' 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 


LIST  OF  THE  BOOKS  OF  VACHEL 
LINDSAY 

Prose  :— 
A  Handy  Guide  for  Beggars. 

Adventures  While  Preaching  the  Gospel  of 
Beauty. 

The  Art  of  the  Moving  Picture. 
The  Golden  Book  of  Springfield. 

Verse : — 

General  William  Booth  Enters  Into  Heaven 
and  Other  Poems. 

The  Congo  and  Other  Poems. 

The  Chinese  Nightingale  and  Other  Poems. 

The  Golden  Whales  of  California  and  Other 
Rhymes  in  the  American  Language. 


THE   GOLDEN    BOOK 
OF    SPRINGFIELD 


BY 
VAGHEL  LINDSAY 

A   CITIZEN   OF   THAT   TOWN 


Being  the  review  of  a  book  that  will  appear  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year  2018,  and  an  extended  descrip 
tion  of  Springfield,  Illinois,  in  that  year. 


fork 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1920 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,   1920 
By     THE     MACMTLLAN     COMPANY 

Set  up  and  electro  typed.     Published  October,  1920. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Campbellite,  the  Florist  and  the  Hostess      3 

II.     The    Prognosticator's    Club 10 

III.  How    People    of    1920    Think   the    Book   Will 

Come,    in    2018    19 

IV.  History    of    the    Michaels 49 

V.     I  Myself  Enter  into  the  Springfield  of  2018....     66 

VI.     Kopensky  Versus   Boone 90 

VII.     The  Drug  Stores,  Coffee  Houses   and  Dance 

Halls    - 103 

VIII.  The  Springfield  Flag  117 

IX.  The  Beginning  of  the  Flying  Machine  Riots....  137 

X.  The  End  of  the  Flying  Machine  Riots 154 

XI.  St.  Friend,  and  His  Two  Religious  Orders 171 

XII.  The  Yellow  Dance  Halls  Are  Abolished 192 

XIII.  Surto  Hurdenburg  is   Lynched 209 

XIV.  In  the  House  of  the  Man  From  Singapore 226 

XV.     Further   Experiences   in   That  Strange   Man 
sion    _ _ , 4  243 

XVI.     The  Return  of  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael 266 

XVII.     The  Lynching  of  Boone.     An  interregnum  of 

the  Diary.    How  The  Golden  Book  Appears  287 

XVIII.     St.     Friend    and    Avanel    Read    From    The 

Golden    Book    805 

XIX.     Avanel    and    I    Ascend    to    the    Jungles    of 

Heaven    .' 318 

01 


THE    PROGNOSTICATOR'S    CLUB 

1920  2018 

David  Carson,  Campbellite  minister, 

becomes    St.   Friend 

Anne  Morrison,  a  florist, 

becomes    Roxana  Grey 

Eloise  Terry,  the  hostess 

becomes     Patricia  Anthony 

Clara  Horton,  a  school  teacher, 

becomes     Josephine  Windom 

Gregory  Webster,  an  artist, 

becomes     Sparrow   Short 

Nathan  Levi,  a  Jewish  boy, 

becomes     Rabbi   Terence   Ezekiel 

Margaret  Evans,  a  Christian  Scientist, 

becomes     Rachel  Madison 

Daisy  Pearl  Johnson,  a  negress, 

becomes     Mary  Timmons 

Nathaniel  Davidson,  an  evangelist, 

becomes    Cave   Man  Thomas 

Ruth  Everett,  a  welfare  worker, 

becomes    Gwendolyn  Charles 

John  Fletcher,  the  doubter, 

becomes    Dr.   Mayo  Sims 

Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  I, 

becomes    Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  II 


THIS  BOOK  IS  INSCRIBED  TO  ISADORA 


THE    PROGNOSTICATOR'S    CLUB 

1920  2018 

David  Carson,  Campbellite  minister, 

becomes    St.    Friend 

Anne  Morrison,  a  florist, 

becomes     Roxana  Grey 

Eloise  Terry,  the  hostess 

becomes     Patricia  Anthony 

Clara  Horton,  a  school  teacher, 

becomes    Josephine  Windom 

Gregory  Webster,  an  artist, 

becomes    Sparrow   Short 

Nathan  Levi,  a  Jewish  boy, 

becomes     Rabbi    Terence   Ezekiel 

Margaret  Evans,  a  Christian  Scientist, 

becomes    Rachel  Madison 
Daisy  Pearl  Johnson,  a  negress, 

becomes     Mary  Timmons 
Nathaniel  Davidson,  an  evangelist, 

becomes     Cave   Man  Thomas 
Ruth  Everett,  a  welfare  worker, 

becomes    Gwendolyn  Charles 
John  Fletcher,  the  doubter, 

becomes    Dr.   Mayo  Sims 
Joseph   Bartholdi  Michael,   I, 

becomes    Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  II 


THIS  BOOK  IS  INSCRIBED  TO  ISADORA 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  CAMPBELLITE,  THE  FLORIST  AND   THE  HOSTESS 

In  this,  our  town,  we  call  "New  Spring 
field,  ' '  David  Carson,  a  young  minister  of  the 
Disciples  of  Christ  is  a  near  neighbor  of  mine. 
He  is  a  graduate  of  Bethany  College.  His 
great-grandfather  studied  there  before  him, 
when  Alexander  Campbell,  the  founder  of 
Bethany,  was  in  his  prime.  If  you  want  to 
know  of  this  man  as  we  know  him,  read  Bich- 
ardson's  staid  old  biography,  or  walk  the 
shades  of  Bethany,  West  Virginia.  Campbell, 
in  our  eyes,  was  the  American  pioneer  the 
ologian. 

He  was  devoted  to  the  union  of  the  churches 
of  Christendom.  He  pleaded  that  all  disciples 
of  Christ  call  themselves  "  simply "  Chris 
tians,  and  unite  on  those  symbols  and  ordi 
nances  which  Christendom  has  in  common. 
If  it  would  not  make  our  great-grandfathers 
turn  over  in  their  graves,  I  and  my  neighbor 
would  call  ourselves  "simply"  Campbellites. 
We  would  do  it  for  a  human,  and  not  lofty 
reason.  It  seems  that  those  spiritually  or 
physically  descended  from  the  early  Camp- 


4  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

bellites  are  on  family  terms,  no  matter  how 
they  seem  to  roam  in  thought  or  experience, 
or  no  matter  what  their  hereditary  argumen 
tative  disposition.  For  a  t  i  Campbellite "  is 
sure  to  argue,  on  the  least  provocation.  There 
are  traces  of  this  tendency  even  in  Richard 
son's  reverent  biography. 

Ultra  modern  followers  of  Campbell  hang 
in  their  libraries  with  unlimited  pride  a  cer 
tain  Rembrandtesque  lithograph  of  the  great 
man,  an  heirloom  that  is  now  quite  rare,  and 
to  be  classed  in  its  southern  way,  as  the  spin 
ning  wheels  and  old  Bibles  of  the  Mayflower 
are  classed  in  a  northern  way.  This  lithograph 
is  the  enlargement  of  the  engraving  in  the 
front  of  the  Richardson  biography,  but  much 
color  and  magic  have  been  added.  Out  of  the 
darkness  emerges  a  smooth-shaven,  high  bred, 
masterful  physiognomy  more  like  that  of  the 
statesmen  who  were  the  fathers  of  the  repub 
lic,  than  of  a  member  of  any  priesthood. 
Campbell's  cheeks  and  eyes  are  still  fired 
with  youth  and  authority  militant.  He  has  a 
head  bowed  with  thought,  crowned  with  grey 
hair,  and  beneath  his  chin  is  the  most  states 
manlike  of  cravats,  with  a  peculiarly  old- 
fashioned  roll.  Thus  he  must  have  looked, 
at  the  height  of  debate  with  the  infidel. 

This  is  the  man  who  put  so  much  learning, 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  5 

and  deathless  controversy,  and  high  distinc 
tion  into  the  log  cabins  of  the  Ohio  river 
basin,  especially  the  romantic  regions  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line.  On  west  of  the  Mis 
sissippi  his  followers  carried  his  light  to 
Seattle,  Portland,  and  Los  Angeles,  and 
the  cities  of  Alaska  and  Canada  and  the  farms 
between.  And  they  start  'round  the  world 
with  it  all  over  again  at  this  hour.  Yet  in 
the  end  that  light  is  apt  to  have  a  color  of  its 
origin,  touched  with  Virginia,  West  Virginia, 
and  Kentucky; — a  soirihern  gospel,  far  indeed 
from  Plymouth  Kock,  or  Manhattan  Island. 
I  can  never  forget  the  copy  of  the  litho 
graph  that  hung  over  my  grandmother's 
front  room  fireplace  in  the  patriarchal  Fra- 
zee  farm  house  in  Indiana.  Under  it  I  heard 
proverbs  from  Campbell  every  summer,  from 
the  time  I  can  remember  anything.  All  those 
sayings  were  mixed  up  with  stories  that  came 
with  my  people  along  the  old  Daniel  Boone 
trail  from  Kentucky  and  Virginia.  And  when 
that  old  frame  house  was  new  and  novel,  and 
most  other  dwelling  houses  near  were  log 
cabins,  Campbell  had  been  a  guest  received 
with  breathless  reverence.  Under  that  picture 
I  was  personally  conducted  through  all  the 
daguerreotypes  and  records  pertaining  to  the 
Kentucky  pioneers  of  our  blood. 


6     THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

And  now,  in  Springfield,  under  the  same 
rich  lithograph  my  neighbor  keeps  the  bound 
volumes  of  Campbell's  Christian  Baptist  and 
Millenial  Harbinger,  once  the  arsenal  of  every 
debating  "  elder "  of  our  persuasion.  My 
grandfather's  copies  were  marked,  every 
page,  and  these  are  marked  by  my  radical 
friend,  but  with  a  different  point  of  view. 

On  a  certain  evening  I  am  in  the  pastor's 
study  tracing  with  astonishment  the  sugges 
tion  of  Christian  Socialism  in  the  first  num 
ber  of  the  Harbinger.  My  Grandma  had  said 
nothing  about  that! 

Few  of  Campbell 's  older  followers  dwell  on 
the  hope  of  a  practical  City  of  God  that 
shouted  from  the  covers  even  before  they 
were  opened.  This  reasonable,  non-miraculous 
millenium  is  much  in  the  mind  of  my  neigh 
bor,  and  he  tells  me  again  and  again  of  a 
vision  that  he  has  of  Springfield  a  hundred 
years  hence.  But  more  of  this  later. 

There  is  a  woman  who  is  florist  of  our  town, 
Anne  Morrison  a  descendant  of  the  Chapman 
family.  She  holds  in  special  reverence,  John 
Chapman,  (Johnny  Appleseed,)  who  began 
his  labors  in  a  region  a  little  north  of  Alexan 
der  CampbelPs  diocese,  in  the  Ohio  basin.  He 
remains  a  tradition  among  the  more  northern 
group  of  those  who  worshipped  Campbell,  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD    7 

among  similar  pioneers.  He  is  especially 
honored  by  that  splendid  sect,  the  Sweden- 
borgians,  for  he  was  a  preacher  and  teacher 
of  the  doctrines  of  Swedenborg.  But  he  was 
even  more  notably  a  nurseryman.  He  was 
deserving  of  the  laurels  of  Thoreau,  three 
times  and  more,  and  by  the  test  of  life  rather 
than  writing,  to  him  belongs  nearly  every 
worth-while  crown  of  Whitman.  He  skir 
mished  on  the  very  edge  of  the  frontier,  but 
fought  the  wilderness,  not  the  Indian.  The 
aborigines  thought  him  a  great  medicine  man 
and  holy  man,  because  of  his  magical  bag  of 
seeds,  for  along  their  trails,  wherever  he 
tramped,  there  soon  came  up  pennyroyal  and 
all  beneficient  herbs.  With  the  tenderness  of 
St.  Francis  he  wept  over  every  wounded  bird, 
and  with  the  steadiness  of  a  nation  builder, 
he  planted  orchards  of  apples  in  the  openings 
of  the  forest,  fenced  them  in,  and  left  them 
for  the  pioneers  to  find,  long  after.  He  wore 
for  a  shirt  and  sole  article  of  clothing  an  old 
gunny-sack  with  holes  cut  for  arms  and  legs, 
and  winter  or  summer  slept  in  the  hollow  tree 
on  the  pile  of  old  leaves,  and  weathered  it 
past  seventy  years,  while  the  great  Whitman 
lived  in  houses,  and  Thoreau  was  on  Walden 
but  a  season  or  two.  These  men  left  behind 
them  certain  writings,  but  Johnny  Appleseed 


8    THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

left  behind  him  apples,  orchards  heavy  with 
fruit,  beauty  from  the  very  black  earth,  and 
a  tradition  whose  wonder  shall  yet  ring 
through  all  the  palaces  of  mankind.  He  was 
swift  as  the  deer,  and  gentle  as  the  fawn, — 
and  stern  with  himself,  as  the  Red  Indian. 
Like  Christ  and  Socrates  he  wrote  only  in  the 
soil.  He  was  welcomed  more  like  an  angel  than 
a  man  in  the  pioneer  cabins,  and  if  ever  there 
was  an  American  saint  left  uncanonized  in 
1920,  it  is  John  Chapman,  Johnny  Appleseed, 
and  by  2018  he  is  canonized  indeed,  and  has 
his  niche  in  the  Springfield  Cathedral,  accord 
ing  to  Anne  Morrison 's  revelation. 

Another  friend  is  a  great  hostess  of  Spring 
field,  Eloise  Terry,  by  name.  Her  enemies  de 
clare  that  she  is  the  representative  of  her 
family  fortune,  and  little  else.  But  they  are 
apt  to  be  people  who  do  not  attend  her  quite 
earnest  parties,  where  every  ramification  of 
the  social  fabric  is  candidly  examined,  at 
least  for  one  evening.  The  most  competent 
person  is  brought  in  to  speak  of  his  strand  of 
the  web,  be  he  bootblack  or  jailbird  or  poet. 
But  this  is  an  advance  on  her  family  who  are 
dully  conventional,  to  the  core  of  their  souls. 
And  her  constant  companions,  though  they 
are  in  fact  people  of  the  same  general  stratifi 
cation  of  good  fortune  as  herself  are  selected 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRrNGFIELD  9 

for  their  human  interest  in  her  unconsciously 
inhuman  inquisitions.  And  inquisitions,  after 
all,  come  but  once  a  month  or  so.  In  general 
she  and  her  cronies  are  taking  a  decent  part 
in  politics,  and  their  wealth  does  not  interfere 
with  an  unprejudiced  estimate  of  candidates, 
entirely  apart  from  bank  accounts.  Her  pres 
ence  in  town  makes  for  the  truth,  and  for 
progress  that  much.  Liars  hate  her  intensely. 
Petty  political  lies  fade  before  her,  however 
poor  her  remedies  may  be  for  the  great  lies. 
She  is  a  golden-haired  girl,  around  thirty 
years  of  age,  with  three  thriving  and  well- 
reared  children.  Her  distinction,  in  my  eyes, 
is  not  her  opinions,  but  the  fact  that  she 
dresses  in  schemes  allied  to  the  gold  of  her 
hair.  I  meet  her  on  the  street  like  a  bit  of 
blessed  sunshine.  Also  her  heart  is  quite 
warm.  If  she  had  been  a  musician,  instead 
of  a  kind  of  contemporary  conversational  his 
torian,  she  would  have  talked  of  music,  in 
stead  of  events,  with  the  same  ardor  and  fine 
tone,  to  a  similar  circle  of  friends,  and  brought 
in  the  singers,  to  sing  for  them,  from  the  very 
gutters  if  necessary,  and  have  been  as  decent 
to  such  songbirds  as  she  knew  how. 


CHAPTER  n 

THE  PROGNOSTICATOR'S  CLUB 

The  young  disciple  minister  and  I  decide 
that  the  people  of  Springfield  who  see  the 
vision  of  the  city  of  the  future  should  be 
brought  together,  and  we  write  some  carefully 
worded  invitations.  We  organize  a  Prognosti- 
cator  's  Club  and  meet  in  the  Sun  Parlor  of  the 
Leland  Hotel. 

One  of  the  first  to  join,  after  our  florist 
friend  and  the  great  hostess  of  Springfield,  is 
John  Fletcher,  a  Doubter.  He  is  a  person  in 
whom  we  place  much  confidence  in  practical 
affairs.  He  is  high  authority  in  the  financial 
circles  of  Springfield.  He  is  religious,  on  Sun 
day  only,  from  eleven  till  twelve-thirty,  when 
he  sits  in  his  pew.  He  represents  the  present 
State  House  view  which  takes  for  granted 
that  the  fewer  ideas  men  have  the  better, 
if  only  the  crowd  in  power  "get  theirs. J* 
The  general  assumption  is: — politics  is  busi 
ness  and  business  is  politics  and  the  only 
worth  while  citizens  are  those  that  "get 
the  money, "  and,  of  course,  those  others  who 
keep  it  safely  and  who  correctly  add  the  ac 
counts  till  the  money  is  wanted.  They  hate 
any  new  current  in  any  party.  And  they 
hate  the  idea  of  any  clan  wanting  any- 

10 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  11 

thing  except  established  well-dressed  bank 
accounts  to  rule  the  city.  Children  are  sent  to 
universities  to  polish  their  manners,  but  not 
to  bring  back  any  changed  thoughts  on  these 
subjects. 

The  gentleman  who  incarnates  this  dream 
lives  in  the  north,  is  therefore  a  Republican. 
He  is  quite  sure  the  Emancipation  Proclama 
tion  meant  that  millionaires  are  exempt  from 
criticism,  except  from  other  millionaires  or 
their  shrewedest  lackeys,  and  that  the  Eman 
cipation  Proclamation  was  sent  forth  into  the 
world  to  establish  more  thoroughly  the  lac 
key,  the  toady,  the  tuft  hunter,  the  snob,  the 
bootlicker,  and  the  parasite,  in  the  service  of 
the  stupidest  holders  of  money  and  land.  He 
will  defend  this  position  quite  ardently,  al 
most  in  those  terms,  and  he  is  quite  sure  that 
anyone  who  protests  against  his  views  is  a 
' '  red. '  >  And  ' '  red, '  ' « '  radical, ' '  ' '  anarchist, ' ' 
and  " liberal' '  are  absolutely  synonymous,  ac 
cording  to  his  thinking.  He  is  sure  that  any 
one  who  does  not  want  to  be  a  millionaire  or 
serve  one  well  is  contemplating  arson.  He  is 
quite  sure  that  every  large  bank  account  is 
automatically  moral,  that  every  small  one  is 
almost  moral,  and  the  one  crime  is  to  be  with 
out  money.  He  is  quite  convinced  that  Abra 
ham  Lincoln  died  to  establish  such  ideals 


12  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

more  firmly  in  the  Republican  Party,  and 
when  he  is  in  the  South  he  maintains  that 
Thomas  Jefferson  and  Andrew  Jackson  lived 
and  toiled  and  suffered  to  establish  them  in 
the  Democratic  Party,  and  did  it  with  emi 
nent  success:  that  all  other  notions  have 
been  recently  imported  from  the  shameful 
streets  of  Eussia.  When  he  sent  his  son  to 
college  he  urged  him  to  spend  money  on  the 
conservative  professors  and  their  sons  and 
daughters,  and  to  put  the  radical  professors 
in  bad  odor  with  the  "best  fellows,"  and  get 
them  fired  as  soon  as  the  trustees  would  listen 
to  one  so  young. 

All  this  point  of  view  is  in  my  friend's 
tone  of  voice  and  gesture.  He  has  t  inherited 
part  of  his  money,  and  married  the  rest,  and 
the  income  pays  for  a  good  caretaker.  He 
himself  is  a  physician  for  the  most  extensively 
landed  families  in  central  Illinois.  He  dresses 
well,  so  people  think  he  knows  all  about  medi 
cine.  He  is  squarely  set,  has  a  heavy  jaw,  a 
steadying  manner,  a  kindly  disposition,  pays 
the  best  salaries  to  his  office  boy  and  secre 
taries  and  the  people  who  work  his  farms. 
He  has  the  greatest  aversion  to  oaths,  bad 
manners,  adultery,  and  has  a  literary  turn. 
Though  he  looks  like  an  old  prize  fighter  with 
a  touch  of  deacon-sleekness,  he  reads  Mon- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  13 

taigne,  Lord  Chesterfield,  Thackeray,  Shake 
speare,  and  the  like.  He  enjoys  discussing  in 
the  most  sympathetic  way  every  human  trait 
that  has  to  do  with  purely  domestic  dramatic 
and  personal  emotions.  His.  wife  is  a  val 
iant  Daughter  of  the  American  Revolution 
and  his  daughter  belongs  to  the  most  snob 
bish  sorority  to  be  discovered  for  miles.  He 
has  been  "right  in  the  wagon "  whenever  a 
bit  of  near  royalty  has  passed  through 
Springfield,  and  his  manner  though  blunt, 
was  deferential.  His  wildest  turn  is  for  radi 
cal  painters,  and  he  has  the  best  collection 
west  of  the  Hudson  of  the  now  forgotten 
cubists. 

Of  far  different  sort  is  the  next  member  of 
our  Club.  She  is  of  the  fine  nerved  creatures  o£ 
this  world,  a  spring  beauty  in  whose  conversa 
tion  I  take  delight.  She  is  a  teacher  in  one  of 
the  Springfield  ward  schools,  and  a  sober  little 
reader  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  we  quar 
rel  a  bit  about  that.  But  her  taste  there  repre 
sents  her  desire  for  fine  grained  English  what 
ever  the  thought  conveyed.  "When  Clara 
Horton  takes  delight  in  life,  it  comes  in  a 
flash  that  sets  her  friends  aflame.  The  school 
marm  is  gone.  She  ceases  to  admonish  me. 
The  imaginary  eyes  of  her  censorious  pupils 
are  banished,  and  I  am  no  longer  a  pupil,,  and 


14  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

she  is  the  daughter  of  a  nymph  of  the  most 
delicate  mood  and  a  faun  of  the  gentlest  sort. 
Her  whole  physical  fabric  is  aglow  with  the 
idea  of  the  book  or  the  event  or  the  mere 
day's  sunshine  or  tomorrow's  movie.  Her 
skin  shows  the  whiteness  of  a  stock  that  has 
been  too  inbred  for  many  generations  for  com 
plete  vigor,  the  gentle  nymph  and  the  gentle 
faun  met  too  often,  and  there  were  not  quite 
enough  bullies  or  peasants  among  her  far 
European  ancestors.  Her  people  have  been 
for  many  generations  in  America.  Every  line 
of  her  family,  north  and  south,  has  been  re 
membered  with  the  greatest  comprehension 
of  every  taste  and  impulse.  She  gets  her 
silky  black  hair  from  one  grandmother,  and 
her  thousand  dimples  from  another  no  doubt. 
She  openly  hates  the  complacency  of  our 
" first  families."  Ideas  go  pouring  through 
her  head,  all  the  time. 

As  for  the  families  representing  the  de 
fended  and  entrenched  fortunes  of  Spring 
field,  theirs  is  still  the  practice  of  keeping 
their  children  out  of  public  school,  for  fear 
of  contamination  with  teachers  who  read  such 
papers  as  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  other 
vulgar  publications.  The  children  must  be  sent 
off  to  teachers  who  flatter  and  flatter  and  flat- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  15 

ter.   But  we  do  not  talk  about  these  matters 
generally.   We  talk  about  New  Springfield. 

The  Prognosticators  discover  that  still 
others  have  been  dreaming  joyfully  all  alone 
of  the  future  of  Springfield.  One  fiery  artist 
of  our  town  brings  in  quite  definite  testimony. 
He  was  born  in  the  village  of  Rochester,  near 
to  Springfield,  but  has  no  sign  in  his  manner 
of  being  a  citizen  of  the  United  States.  Quite 
an  old  man,  Gregory  Webster  has  the  ways 
of  boulevard  heroes  of  Paris  who  swung 
their  canes  like  swashbucklers,  among  the 
cafes,  in  1876.  He  speaks  English  with 
a  French  accent.  Yet  he  has  been  a  tre 
mendous  force  for  good  in  the  history  of 
American  Art.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of 
pupils  have  passed  through  his  studios.  He 
has  been  a  courageous  patron  of  young  artists. 
With  infallible  taste  he  has  purchased  their 
best  pictures,  as  soon  as  their  pictures  were 
good,  thereby  giving  them  reputations  twenty 
years  sooner,  and  himself  "going  broke.'' 
He  has  championed  the  most  elegant  crafts 
manship.  In  torrents  of  tireless  language, 
with  an  unflagging  zeal  and  animation,  he  has 
talked  down  and  out  the  cheap  and  popular 
conception  of  the  uses  of  art.  He  has  exalted 
the  great  portrait  masters'.  He  has  exalted 
brushwork  and  drawing  into  a  ritual,  and 


16  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

good  color  into  a  finality  of  the  soul.  He  has 
been  marvelously  generous  in  his  sympathy 
and  his  patience  with  budding  talent,  and 
therefore  the  artists'  aspiration  of  America 
for  a  whole  generation  has  come  to  his  front 
door.  He  is,  in  actual  subject  matter,  in  his 
own  pictures  an  unimaginative  creature.  He 
is  able  to  paint  jishes  better  than  men  and 
rabbits  better  than  women,  and  yet,  since  he 
painted  fishes  and  rabbits  with  Olympian 
finality,  they  have  been  enshrined  in  the  high 
est  galleries  of  the  world  next  to  portraits  of 
human  creatures  by  Rembrandt  and  Hals  and 
Velasquez. 

A  stranger  to  these  others  comes  to  me. 
Nathan  Levi,  son  of  one  of  the  Rabbis 
of  our  tiny  Springfield  Ghetto.  He  at  once 
wins  my  heart.  I  have  always  found  myself 
in  peculiar  sympathy  with  the  Jews.  Once 
past  the  moment  of  shyly  seeking  my  confi 
dence,  he  is  full  of  the  Jewish  expressiveness 
and  demonstration.  He  is  astonished  beyond 
measure  to  discover  a  double  consciousness 
within  himself.  In  this  century  he  is  as  ortho 
dox  as  his  father,  and  a  young  man  devoted 
to  the  routine  of  the  pawn  shop.  In  2018  he  is 
in  a  hundred  ways  opposite. 

Another  newcomer,  Margaret  Evans,  is  a 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  17 

Christian  Science  Reader.  She  is  beautiful,  in 
this  day,  and  though  she  does  not  speak  of 
her  mirror  in  2018,  as  does  the  headlong  Jew 
ish  boy,  I  know  she  will  always  be  beautiful  in 
body  and  soul.  She  has  fathomed  the  holy 
grace  and  immortal  gladness  of  her  teaching, 
and  I  can  well  believe  she  is  immortal  in  this 
place,  under  our  oak  and  apple  trees. 

Still  another  is  a  Springfield  Negress  who 
is  a  preacher  among  her  own  people.  She  has 
not  a  single  Caucasian  contour  to  her  face  or 
figure,  yet  all  the  world  must  admit  that 
Daisy  Pearl  Johnson  is  beautiful  as  she  is 
divinely  young.  She  is  "  black  but  comely, " 
according  to  the  scripture.  And  she  is  eager 
in  all  the  matters  of  the  mind  and  spirit. 

Another  prophet,  Nathanial  Davidson, 
gathers  several  denominations  under  one 
temporary  roof,  and  preaches  to  them  about 
hell.  He  was  once  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  physical  di 
rector,  and  he  ranges  in  attributes  from  Cali 
ban  to  higher  things,  and  looks  much  like 
Douglas  Fairbanks  and  William  A.  Sunday. 
He  receives  an  invitation  to  join  the  Prognos- 
ticator's  Club. 

Then  there  is  a  woman  who  was  a  welfare 
worker  in  France.  Ruth  Everett  has  such 
a  sleek  and  sophisticated  grace,  and  her 
face  is  so  snobbish  yet  so  Alexandrian  Greek 


18  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

that  I  have  often  called  her  "The  Daughter 
of  Lysippus."  In  every  line  is  the  elegance 
that  old  sculptor  might  have  loved.  In  pomp, 
upon  her  throne,  and  she  makes  any  chair  her 
throne,  she  is  like  "Sara  Siddons  as  the 
Tragic  Muse."  as  painted  by  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds. 

And  here  you  have  men  and  women  who 
see  the  vision,  each  in  a  strange  and  mystical 
fashion. 


CHAPTER  in 

HOW    PEOPLE    OF   1920    THINK    THE    GOLDEN    BOOK 
WILL   COME   IN  2018 

When  we,  the  Prognosticated  Club,  come 
together  for  our  meetings  it  is  inevitable 
that  our  talk  should  be  of  the  Springfield  of 
our  fancy  and  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
vision  has  come  to  each  one. 

The  first  to  testify,  when  we  call  the 
members  together  in  the  Sun  Parlor  of  the 
Leland  Hotel  is  the  young  Campbellite  min 
ister.  He  tells  us  of  a  dream  that  has  come  to 
him  on  many  evenings  by  his  study  fire. 

In  a  vision  he  is  reborn  three  or  four  gen 
erations  in  the  future.  He  is  a  priest  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  He  is  known  as  St.  Friend, 
the  Giver  of  Bread.  He  is  almost  alone  in  a 
vast  Gothic  Cathedral  He  is  astonished  to 
find  himself  changed  in  body,  conviction,  and 
habit  from  all  his  former  routine,  but  enough 
memory  remains  for  the  comparison,  and  he 
knows  he  is  still  himself.  But  of  this  another 
time. 

There  are  a  few  people  praying  at  the  sta- 

19 


20  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

tions  of  the  cross,  in  this,  Springfield's  new 
church  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  on  the  old 
site  of  Sixth  and  Eeynold  's  Streets.  The  time 
is  All  Saint 's  Day,  Anno  Domini,  2018.  As  he 
tells  us  the  story,  the  very  picture  springs  be 
fore  me  in  elaborate  detail,  as  though  I  wit 
nessed  the  event  in  my  own  person.  The 
church  is  indeed  gigantic  for  so  small  a  town 
to  build,  and  in  many  particulars  as  well  as 
general  type  it  is  like  Notre  Dame,  Paris.  We 
behold  with  him  how  a  book  of  air,  gleaming 
with  spiritual  gold,  comes  flying  in  through 
the  walls  as  though  they  were  but  shadows. 
It  is  a  book  open  as  it  soars,  and  every  flutter 
ing  page  is  richly  bordered  and  illuminated. 
It  has  wings  of  black,  and  above  them  wings 
of  azure.  Long  feathers  radiate  from  the 
whirring,  soaring  pennons.  The  book  circles 
above  the  heads  of  the  congregation.  From 
the  sky  comes  music  incredibly  sweet. 

The  book  flies  toward  the  altar,  where  St. 
Friend  finds  himself  standing.  The  wings 
fade.  This  day  moves  with  rapid  breath.  The 
congregation  has  been  trooping  in  as  the  visi 
tant  from  the  world  of  spirit-wonder  has  been 
settling  into  its  own  holy  place  on  the  altar. 

Now  St.  Friend  is  in  the  act  of  reading  the 
gleaming  volume.  It  is  a  book  of  homilies, 
addressed  directly  to  New  Springfield.  Day 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  21 

after  day  the  whole  population  flocks  to  the 
cathedral  to  hear,  in  the  blazing  kaleidoscopic 
costumes  of  that  time, — all  kinds  of  people, 
saints  and  sinners.  But  to  speak  briefly  of  the 
essential  story,  the  town  is  transfigured  and 
redeemed  beyond  any  merely  mundane  plan. 
And  so  we  call  2018  the  Mystic  Year,  and  give 
it  other  honorable  titles  of  similar  import. 
For  the  town,  then,  becomes  half-way  millen 
nial.  Of  these  qualified  but  stirring  wonders, 
another  time.  Let  us  turn  for  the  moment  to 
the  second  witness,  and  hear  her  version  of  the 
appearance  of  the  Golden  Book. 

The  florist  had  already  revealed  to  me,  when 
I  was  buying  red  roses  in  her  gorgeous  green 
house,  that  she  had  a  strange  recurrent  pic 
ture  of  the  days  of  Johnny  Appleseed's  tri 
umph  going  through  her  head.  She  repeats 
her  story  to  the  other  members  of  the  club. 

It  is  of  Anno  Domini  2018,  and  though  she 
is  still  a  florist  she  wears  her  rue  with  a  dif 
ference.  She  finds  herself  the  exponent  of  a 
religion  of  flowers.  Her  name  is  Eoxana  Grey. 
She  is  daughter  of  a  "Mother  Grey,"  who 
was  in  like  manner  daughter  of  a  "Mother 
Grey."  There  is  much  interesting  detail  ir 
relevant  to  the  present  point,  but  I  may  say 
she  is  first  moved  to  tell  me  the  story  because 
she  finds  my  name  on  the  roll  of  the  back- 


22  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

sliders  among  the  devotees  of  this  2018  reli 
gion  of  flowers.  She  has  a  double  conscious 
ness  that  keeps  a  mind  in  both  periods,  but  is 
surprised  to  find  both  my  name  and  my  very 
self  in  the  new  time. 

But  as  to  Johnny  Appleseed,  which  is  more 
to  the  point  of  this  chapter,  she  ia  most  up 
lifted  of  heart  to  find  that  he  at  last  comes 
into  his  own  in  our  city  and  his  name  is  whis 
pered  there  perpetually. 

In  his  name  Springfield  has  developed  the 
great  Amaranth  Apple  Orchards;  it  is  said, 
from  seeds  he  gave  in  his  lifetime  to  a  certain 
pioneer,  Hunter  Kelly.  And  it  is  taught  in 
his  name,  or  with  the  mood  he  engenders  in 
our  hearts,  that  he  who  eats  of  the  Amaranth 
Apple  is  filled  with  a  love  of  eternal  beauty, 
and  it  is  used  as  the  City's  understood  symbol 
of  beauty. 

Then  there  is  a  teaching^m  hi&name  that  he 
who,  after  certain  prayers,  eats  of  certain 
acorns,  or  walks  under  the  oak  saplings 
that  come  from  them,  accepts  in  some  sense 
promptings  toward  eternal  goodness.  It  has 
come  about  that  eating  the  acorn,  is  the  city's 
accepted  metaphor  for  the  search  for  right 
eousness.  The  earlier  devotees  of  the  oak, 
planted  a  notable  group  that  have  of  late 
grown  taller  than  the  California  redwoods. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  23 

They  are  in  a  complete  circle  of  twelve,  sur 
rounding  the  very  edges  of  the  city.  The 
first  two,  which  are  the  tallest,  are  by  the 
inside  northwest  gate,  put  there  long  before 
there  was  any  gate,  by  Hunter  Kelly,  of 
whom  more  hereafter.  But  these  oaks,  the 
pillars  of  Springfield 's  temple-cathedral-syn 
agogue,  whose  roof  is  the  sky,  are  made  the 
theme  of  many  varieties  of  teaching,  all  of 
which  goes  baxjk  to  Johnny  Appleseed,  who 
gave  to  Hunter  Kelly  the  original  acorns  that 
made  the  trees  of  Oak  Ridge,  and  these  pillar 
oaks  as  well. 

There  is  another  teaching,  abroad  in 
Springfield,  2018,  the  teaching  of  Democ 
racy,  of  which  the  Symbol  is  the  Golden 
Rain-Tree  brought  from  New  Harmony,  In 
diana.  It  is  said  in  Springfield,  and  taught 
with  especial  emphasis  by  the  devotees  of  the 
Flower  Religion,  that  he  who  enters  under 
the  shade  of  the  Rain-Tree  boughs  and  leaves 
and  flowers,  enters  the  gate  of  eternal  de 
mocracy,  and  so  the  trees  are  often  called 
Gate-Trees. 

And  then  having  told  us  so  much,  my  friend 
speaks  again  and  shows  to  our  spirit  eyes  an 
out-of-door  statue  of  John  Chapman,  Johnny 
Appleseed,  near  which  she  finds  herself  just 
before  sunrise  of  All  Saint's  Day,  Anno 


24  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Domini,  2018.  Eoxana  is  there  to  watch  for 
the  dawn.  She  walks  alone,  according  to  the 
discipline,  saying  certain  prayers.  The  park 
is  on  the  edge  of  the  Governor's  yard. 

A  great  rose-colored,  egg-shaped  boulder  is 
dug  from  the  midst  of  the  lawn  of  the  Gov 
ernor's  yard.  She  hides  in  a  clump  of  bushes 
to  watch;  for  the  digging  is  by  no  mortal 
hand,  but  by  spiritual  presences  which  are 
the  souls  of  the  primeval  trees  of  the  city, 
looming,  whispering,  rustling  above  the  place. 
Then  the  boulder  is  there,  rolled  over  on  the 
grass,  and  a  bolt  from  the  clear  starry  heaven 
strikes  it.  The  book  comes  flying  forth.  It 
has  the  same  airy,  other-worldly  presence  and 
power  as  when  described  by  the  first  witness. 
But  it  soars  to  the  Shrine  of  Flowers  conse 
crated  to  the  especial  sect  and  the  esoteric 
teachings  of  Roxana  Grey  and  her  immediate 
predecessors.  But  she  does  not  know  where 
it  has  gone,  it  has  circled  and  wandered  so, 
appearing  and  disappearing.  And  it  is  with 
a  tremendous  leaping  of  the  heart  she  finds  it 
next  day  on  her  altar  with  wings  gone  but 
with  pages  open  to  be  read  to  the  faithful. 
Its  main  themes  are  the  teachings  of  the  trees, 
of  which  we  have  spoken,  woven  with  her  own 
traditional  doctrines  of  the  flowers,  but  all 
these  teachings  in  most  heightened  and  glori- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  25 

fied  aspects.  Along  the  margins  are  old  texts 
from  the  special  books  of  her  shrine,  and  from 
Swedenborg  and  the  Old  and  New  Testa 
ments. 

When  the  great  hostess  of  Springfield  be 
gins  her  testimony  my  first  question,  since  I 
am  but  a  man,  is  whether  her  hair  in  2018 
gleams  with  the  same  darling  golden  hue. 

And  have  the  red-haired  girls  the  courage 
to  dress  like  daffodils,  in  2018?  She  insists  I 
am  the  wicked  one  to  be  pressing  this  devilish 
investigation,  when  there  are  rarer  things  to 
impart, — but  in  the  glad  Mystic  Year,  since 
I  must  know,  she  is  endowed  with  the  hair  of 
what  might  be  called  her  1920  Grandmother- 
self,  and  the  only  change  she  notices  is  aunore 
painful  tendency  to  freckles,  from  riding 
horseback  in  a  certain  notable  cavalry,  behind 
a  certain  young  lady  commander,  Avanel 
Boone, — of  whom  more  anon. 

The  most  important  revelation  to  her,  socio 
logically,  is  that  she  finds  herself  no  longer 
one  of  "our  best  people. "  That  is,  she  has 
not  much  money,  and  no  privilege  of  collect 
ing  rents  in  the  style  that  is  now  the  sole 
reason  many  of  the  "old  families "  are  in 
Springfield  for  a  part  of  the  year.  She  is  in 
Springfield  because  she  loves  a  certain  fac 
tory.  She  loves  it  because  she  is  Patricia 


26  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Anthony,  forewoman,  and  can  order  people 
about.  Her  factory  is  at  Ninth  and  Converse 
Streets,  on  the  same  ground  with  The  Illinois 
Watch  Company  and  The  Sangamo  Electric 
Company.  It  is  a  place  where  telescopic  and 
microscopic  lenses  are  made.  As  for  the  Golden 
Book  about  which  she  is  all  aquiver,  she  finds 
the  volume  when  she  is  inspecting  the  place  in 
the  late  afternoon  of  All  Saint's  Day,  Anno 
Domini,  2018.  She  says  I  am  there  with  her, 
carrying  on,  as  of  old,  in  the  same  conceited, 
philandering  way.  I  am  helping  take  inven 
tory  of  the  supplies  needed  for  the  next  week, 
as  my  excuse  for  the  tour.  The  factory  echoes 
hollow  with  our  solitary  steps.  Indeed  it 
takes  her  aback  to  meet  the  book  in  such  an 
off-hand,  teasing  moment. 

But  there  is  The  Golden  Book.  Every 
transparent  page,  which  flutters  as  though 
with  the  gusty  thoughts  of  our  spirits,  is 
written  in  letters  of  fire.  On  the  first  leaf  is 
an  inscription  delivering  the  work  to  her  by 
name:  "Patricia  Anthony. " 

She  was  always  a  conceited  woman,  and 
here  is  the  first  thing  that  ever  happened  to 
her  to  justify  it,  I  say  to  her,  speaking  as  one 
1920  person  to  another. 

But  on,  to  2018:  For  all  the  Golden  Book 
is  penned  so  gorgeously,  the  discussion  is 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  27 

largely  economic.  There  are  citations  from 
Adam  Smith,  Karl  Marx,  Henry  George,  and 
on,  forward,  to  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael  the 
second,  and  Black  Hawk  Boone, — Springfield 
sages  of  2018.  All  these  are  cited  to  corrobo 
rate,  in  various  items,  piecemeal,  an  abso 
lutely  new  economic  remedy  for  the  world. 

Patricia  sees  herself  reading  the  volume 
to  the  workers,  through  the  lunch  hour.  The 
book  keeps  its  wings.  Often,  as  though  stirred 
with  divine  impatience,  it  dashes  and  flutters 
on  through  the  walls,  as  though  they  were 
shadows,  then  comes  soaring  back  again. 
Each  time  it  returns  the  work  is  re-opened, 
at  the  first  page,  and  newer  and  more  difficult 
teaching  is  written  there,  till  the  volume  is 
no  longer  economic.  It  is  as  though  a  work  by 
Henry  George  had  been  changed  into  a  work 
by  Swedenborg!  Now  it  shows  how  to  make 
microscopes  that  will  enable  all  Springfield 
to  find  the  fairies  of  the  fairies,  and  telescopes 
that  will  discover  the  angels  that  guard  the 
angels.  At  last  the  book  instructs  the  devout 
how  to  woo  and  win  these  creatures,  without 
turning  upon  them  any  glass  of  cold  scrutiny, 
how  to  see  them  with  the  natural  eye,  and 
touch  them  with  the  natural  hand. 

The  little  school  teacher  finds  herself  reborn 
in  2018  as  head  of  the  three-color  printing  de- 


28  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

partment  of  the  school  where  she  teaches.  In 
the  reincarnation  she  bears  the  name  of 
Josephine  Windom.  She  stands  helpless  when 
a  Rock  and  Kopensky  mob,  and  children  of 
Doctor  Mayo  Sims  seize  the  winged  volume 
from  the  altar  of  St.  Friend,  apparently 
against  its  will,  like  a  hundred  men  binding 
an  angel.  Near  the  market  house  between 
Fourth  and  Fifth  on  xMonroe  they  pile  fire 
wood  upon  the  book.  They  pour  on  oil.  They 
light  the  pyre.  All  is  turned  to  ashes.  Later 
a  band  of  Municipal  University  rescuers  ar 
rives.  They  are  led  by  her  assistant  in  the 
color  printing  department,  Horace  Andrews. 

Slowly  as  though  greeting  this  band  the 
flames  renew  themselves,  and  take  form. 
There  is  the  book  again,  but  four  times  as 
large,  with  wings,  binding,  leaves,  and  letters 
of  fire.  Then  suddenly  it  is  flying  above  the 
city.  Its  covers  are  of  the  iridescence  of  a 
shell,  with  a  golden  shimmering.  The  wings 
are  music  making. 

The  book  is  a  friend  of  men.  It  is  disposed 
to  descend  to  its  friends.  It  is  carried  in  flying 
and  fluttering  state  to  the  three-color  print 
ing  department  of  the  school,  where  hundreds 
of  rainbow  replicas  of  the  pages  are  made, 
though  not  on  this  earth  can  replicas  of  the 
wings  be  made.  And  while  the  book  is  within 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  29 

the  four  walls,  the  school  becomes  a  place 
of  fairyland.  Every  cottage  has  its  own  copy 
of  the  volume  in  time.  Edition  after  edition 
goes  out,  first  from  the  school,  then  from  the 
greater,  more  dazzling  printing  presses  of  the 
University,  to  the  scholars  and  artists  of  Eu 
rope  and  Asia,  through  their  colleagues  who 
are  attending  the  World 's  Fair  of  the  Univer 
sity  of  Springfield.  But  the  book  itself,  having 
once  been  copied  in  the  printing  room  there, 
flies  around  the  Truth  Tower,  the  center  of 
town;  it  goes  up  in  higher  and  wider  circles. 
At  last  it  is  seen,  a  star  among  the  stars. 
Meanwhile  the  transfiguration  of  the  city 
begins. 

The  future  plays  a  curious  trick  with  our 
artist  friend,  the  valiant  and  patriotic  Ameri 
can  who  sent  forth  all  his  sons  against  the 
Germans.  He  is  astonished  to  find  himself 
reborn  a  pacifist,  Anno  Domini,  2018.  And 
there  are  other  sad  changes.  He  sees  himself 
in  a  mirror  as  a  long-haired  creature,  a 
ragged  libel  of  the  William  Cullen  Bryant 
type,  with  similar  features,  but  dressed  in 
ready  made  garments,  and  with  much  food 
spilled  down  the  front  of  his  vest.  His  nick 
name  in  2018  is  "Old  Sparrow  Short, "  be 
cause  at  that  time  the  sparrow  is  his  favorite 
bird,  and  because  he  is  tall.  This  increased 


80  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

height  is  the  only  concession  to  his  vanity  in 
the  revelation,  for  in  1920  he  has  been  obliged 
to  stand  on  his  toes  over  and  over,  to  give 
any  impression  of  height. 

In  2018,  though  a  pacifist,  he  is  still  militant 
in  the  esthetic  field.  He  is  a  leader  of  a  group 
of  young  Springfield  painters,  sculptors,  and 
architects  who  are  always  dynamiting  our 
stagnant  exhibitions  with  appropriate  bombs 
of  paint.  He  insists  it  is  the  painting  and 
sculpture  of  his  followers  that  make  Spring 
field  such  a  dazzling  success.  He  is  still  the 
head  teacher  of  the  Springfield  Art  Associa 
tion  which  has  its  headquarters  at  the 
Edwards  Place  on  North  Fifth,  as  of  old. 

His  political  hobby  in  2018  is  that  we 
should  return  to  the  glory  of  the  ancient  time 
of  the  unchained  nations,  especially,  as  he 
hears  himself  say,  the  era  of  peace  and  good 
will  when  the  Czar  instituted  the  Hague  trib 
unal,  and  Andrew  Carnegie  sent  out  his 
peace  lecturers.  He  is  sent  to  our  local  World 
Government  prison  which  is  built  across  the 
street  from  the  City  and  County  Jails  on  Sev 
enth  and  Jefferson  Streets.  He  is  here  locked 
up  for  emphasizing  his  views  to  the  point  of 
world-treason.  The  book  flies  in  through  the 
walls  of  his  cell  as  though  those  walls  were 
shadows,  and  as  though  the  book  were  made 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  31 

of  but  air  and  sunshine,  woven  together.  He 
who  is  doomed  to  become  this  awful  Sparrow 
Short  declares  that  the  principal  mandate  of 
the  volume  is  for  the  immediate  dissolution  of 
the  entire  International  Government.  It  de 
mands  a  restoration  of  the  conditions  of  1913. 
The  mandate  of  the  volume  for  the  artist  is 
the  same  as  for  the  nation.  "Live  like  the 
Sparrow.  Be  yourself  complelely.  Utter  your 
soul,  regardless  of  cost.'9  This  condition,  uni 
versally  accepted,  will  secure  a  real  world- 
peace,  and  one  that  is  not  hypocrisy  or  op 
pression. 

It  comes  the  turn  of  the  Jewish  boy  1 
so  much  admire.  He  says  that  in  2018  he  is 
"  Rabbi  Terence  Ezekiel,"  a  rank  heretic, 
and  an  old  man.  He  dreams  of  himself  as 
being  the  grandson  and  the  son  of  two  other 
Rabbis  of  the  same  name  and  as  having  a 
rebel  congregation  all  his  own  in  2018,  of 
being  in  their  estimation  and  that  of  many 
others,  the  leading  citizen  of  the  community. 
His  temple  is  on  the  site  of  the  old  Isador 
Kanner  Synagogue.  He  it  is,  who,  as  the 
leading  champion  of  the  aggrandizement  of 
the  photoplay  as  a  general  social  factor,  fights 
his  best  chum,  St.  Friend,  when  films  are  a 
^public  issue,  because  St.  Friend  preaches 
against  them  from  the  Cathedral.  No  longer 


32  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

is  his  life  the  slow,  devious  midnight-lamp 
technique  of  the  pawnshop,  the  furtive,  the 
futile,  the  too  confidential.  Not  his  the  bad 
street  abounding  in  second-hand  stores  and 
cheap  rooming  lofts. 

To  his  temple  come  the  wise  of  all  the 
world,  and  there  is  preached  the  gospel  of 
righteousness  as  symbolized  by  the  planting 
all  around  the  world  of  the  Ezekiel  Oak  (for 
thus  he  has  taken  a  leaf  from  the  testimony  of 
Roxana  Grey),  and  the  distribution  of  all 
other  great  trees,  including  the  Golden  Rain- 
Tree,  and  the  Apple  Amaranth.  But  within 
this  wave  of  beneficence  his  sect  has  a  pecu 
liar  and  especial  discipline,  as  rigid  and  elab 
orate  as  Leviticus,  which  is,  in  another  set  of 
forms,  essentially  the  same  curious  flowering 
of  the  Jewish  mind  cui  the  same  general  level 
of  the  soul.  When  he  looks  into  the  glass  he 
sees,  in  1920,  a  young  rascal  who  has  stooped 
shoulders,  from  long  bending  over  the  jewelry 
and  watches  he  has  mended.  He  sees  dull- 
brown  hair  and  eyes,  a  blank  face,  a  heavy 
jaundiced  skin,  all  of  which  give  the  lie  to  the 
great  brain.  And  he  is  five  feet  in  height. 

In  2018  he  is  six  feet  four,  an  t»ld  man,  but 
with  a  blazing  eye  and  a  voice  like  the  surf 
in  a  storm.  His  hair  is  brilliant  black,  his  face 
is  that  of  the  Arabian  war  horse  and  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  33 

American  eagle.  Into  his  temple  come  all  the 
wise  of  the  world,  week  after  week,  and  he 
introduces  them,  and  they  speak  to  his  people 
and  the  rest.  But  he  is  to  deliver  his  own  dis 
course  on  a  certain  day  in  the  autumn  of  the 
Mystic  Year.  It  is  a  little  before  the  begin 
ning  of  the  services.  Amid  faint  music  from 
afar  the  light  before  the  doors  of  the  taber 
nacle  is  suddenly  enriched  in  color  and  splen 
dor.  The  holy  doors  swing  open  with  a  noble 
deliberation,  and  there,  instead  of  the  Torah, 
is  The  Book  of  Air  and  Wonder,— The  Golden 
Book,  poised  like  a  cloud  and  a  moon  and  a 
bird.  It  has  six  wings,  woven  from  the  rays 
of  a  strange  moonrise,  perhaps  like  the  wings 
of  the  cherubim,  that  bent  above  the  ark  long 
ago.  The  book  settles  on  the  desk.  The  pen 
nons  fade.  The  volume  is  open  at  the  begin 
ning  of  a  series  of  prophecies  about  the  soul 
of  Springfield,  as  though  Springfield  were  a 
living  personality  and  not  a  mere  assembly  of 
citizens,  and  as  though  the  book  were  a  per 
son,  and  not  mere  wings  of  air. 

He  tells  us  that  he  sees  a  face  much  like 
mine  in  the  assembly  of  2018,  and  I  have  not 
changed,  but  have  the  same  yellow  hair  and 
pale  face,  as  he  says,  "  still  look  like  a 
Swede,"  and,  (as  he  insists,  with  the  pawn 
broker's  emphasis  on  material  texture),  I 


34.  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

wear  the  same  suit  of  clothes,  and  carry  the 
same  iron  and  leather  cane. 

And  so  he  tells  us  his  tale  of  double  con 
sciousness,  with  the  honest  glow  of  the 
blood  that  I  love  in  all  leaders  of  his  race, 
with  that  thick  fire  which  no  other  race  can 
equal.  His  synagogue  is  rebuilt  on  a  vast 
scale  in  2018  to  hold  Golden  Book  devotees; 
And  this  is  but  the  beginning  of  his  history 
of  great  affairs  in  Springfield. 

The  Christian  Science  Reader  says  she 
sees  my  face  in  the  Sunday  morning 
Christian  Science  congregation  of  her  vi 
sion.  We  are  one  and  all  given  new  names. 
Her  name  in  2018  is  Rachel  Madison,  and, 
though  I  am  not  of  her  faith  today,  in  the 
new  time  I  have  grown  toward  this  light,  and 
she  sees  me  with  my  unfortunate  yellow  hair 
and  my  iron  cane,  for  all  the  world  as  the 
young  pawnbroker  does,  but  sitting  in  the 
back  of  the  Christian  Science  temple  listening 
attentively,  Sunday  after  Sunday.  She  says 
that  it  is  a  silver  book  that  we  see  upon  the 
great  day  of  November  1st,  2018.  It  sheds  an 
ineffable  white  light,  it  is  almost  as  impal 
pable  as  a  comet  in  the  sky,  yet  a  substance 
that  comes  flying  through  the  walls  as  though 
they  were  but  gleaming  shadows.  The  air 
5s  filled  with  music  from  all  the  high  heavens. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  35 

The  book  spreads  six  wings,  like  those  of 
celestial  swans.  The  pages  have  no  illumina 
tions  or  other  abominable  traces  of  the  Gothic. 

The  book  circles  above  the  ecstatic  and 
transfixed  assembly,  then  it  settles  upon  the 
desk  between  the  two  older  books  there,  and 
in  its  presence  they  become  like  itself,  books 
of  air. 

And  so  she  reads  to  the  people,  with  the 
other  reader,  who  stands  beside  her  accord 
ing  to  old  custom.  They  read  as  though  by 
long  understanding,  but  actually  led  as  in  a 
trance,  through  alternate  pages  of  the  three 
books. 

Almost  in  a  day  the  church  is  rebuilt.  It 
becomes  a  tremendous  white  dome,  a  house 
of  devotion,  where  the  whole  city  worships 
as  one  soul.  Then  begins  the  one  new  evolu 
tion  of  the  town  toward  healing,  and  the 
peace  of  the  clear  sky. 

The  negress  who  sees  prophetic  visions  is 
easily  persuaded  to  add  her  testimony  about 
the  book.  Her  name  in  2018  is  Mary  Tim- 
mons,  and  she  is  nicknamed  " Pious  Mary." 
She  is  most  voluble  concerning  the  wonders  of 
the  new  time.  But  to  the  matter  of  the  book 
at  once.  She  finds  herself  in  her  church,  in 
the  place  where  the  Baptist  Evangelical 
chapel  stood  a  century  before.  And  it  is  still 


36  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

called  the  "Baptist  Evangelical. "  The  house 
of  worship  is  now  gorgeous  with  curious  jun- 
gle-mooded  ornaments,  pillars  which  are  so 
carved  as  to  seem  moss-hung  and  vine-wound. 
It  is  as  though  we  were  in  the  shade  of  things 
too  high  for  man.  All  this  house  of  worship 
has  been  evolved  by  her  cousin,  the  great 
architect  John  Emis,  who  is  also  a  member 
of  this  congregation,  and  a  powerful  exhorter 
among  his  own  people,  despite  all  his  world 
fame  among  paler  races.  It  is  in  the  midst 
of  his  designs  she  moves,  on  this  great  day. 
With  pentecostal  power  her  people  are  sing 
ing  "Swing  Low,  Sweet  Chariot."  While  the 
faces  are  uplifted,  the  book  of  air,  the  book 
that  gleams  with  spiritual  gold,  flies  in 
through  the  walls  as  though  they  were  but 
shadows.  There  is  a  mighty  glory  shout  from 
the  congregation.  It  is,  according  to  Mary 
Timmons,  answered  by  music  from  "the 
highest  sanctorium  of  the  meridian  sky." 
There  are  twenty  heavenly  doves  soaring  in 
a  circle  around  the  book.  Outside  of  them  is 
a  circle  of  robins.  All  these  birds  fly  through 
the  walls  and  away,  while  the  book  settles 
upon  the  reading  desk.  The  wings  do  not 
fade,  but  cover  the  pulpit  with  plumes  of 
azure,  plumes  of  ebony,  peacock  feathers, 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  37 

each  with  three  eyes,  and  long  feathery  golden 
threads  that  are  spreading  and  scattering  like 
loose  silk.  Yet  these  things  seem  but  as  clouds 
spun  by  necromancy  and  as  words  of  the 
angels  made  visible. 

Then  Mary  Timmons  takes  a  strange  turn, 
and  insists  it  is,  after  all,  only  a  copy  of  the 
Bible,  open  at  the  Beatitudes.  Glorified  in 
this  way  it  brings  about  the  higher  emancipa 
tion  of  her  people.  Beginning  with  this  con 
gregation  they  are  stirred  to  the  depths  of 
their  more  creative  selves.  Devout  compos 
ers,  the  kind  that  once  gave  birth  to  one  line 
spirituals,  sung  like  " rounds/'  now  develop 
epic  forms  of  composition  that  are  allied  to 
these,  so  that  great  and  musical  shouts  echo 
from  mouth  to  mouth  and  breast  to  breast 
with  three  hundred  singing,  and  then  the 
whole  African  race  singing.  And  instead  of 
simply  expressing  the  massed  devotion  of 
Africa,  as  of  old,  these  more  personal  spir 
ituals  record  the  lyric  cry  of  this  or  that  black 
poet.  Africa-in-America  now  sings  the  spe 
cial  story  of  the  black  statesman,  the  black 
farmer,  or  even  the  devout  architect  John 
Emis  and  the  like.  And  the  people  and  race 
of  Mary  Timinons,  once  natural  orators,  but 
no  one  a  better  creator  than  another,  sud- 


38  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

denly  flower  individually.  Their  genius  be 
comes  intensely  centered  in  a  few,  and  there 
are  speakers  with  definite,  individual  mes 
sages,  who  shout  not  only  wonderful  round 
rolling  words,  but  phrases  with  whip  lash  and 
sentences  with  sword  edge,  in  orations  as  in 
dividual  as  the  world  demands  that  art  shall 
be.  The  African  man  with  the  soul  of  the 
fox,  now  speaks  like  the  fox,  as  is  his  right 
and  duty,  the  man  with  the  soul  of  the  ele 
phant  now  speaks  like  the  elephant,  as  is  his 
right  and  duty,  and  the  woman  with  the  heart 
of  the  nightingale  now  speaks  like  the  night 
ingale. 

Our  evangelist  reveals  to  us  his  dream  that 
in  the  Mystic  Year  2018,  he  is  the  Vice-Presi 
dent  of  the  Springfield  Athletic  Union  and  his 
nickname  is  Cave  Man  Thomas.  On  a  certain 
day,  in  the  fall  of  2018,  the  president  of  the 
Athletic  Union  is  dying.  He  is  "said  to  be" 
poisoned  by  a  political  foe.  He  hands  a  key 
to  Cave  Man  Thomas.  It  opens  the  official 
roller-top  desk,  which  is  in  a  building  on  the 
site  of  the  present  Y.  M.  C.  A.  on  Seventh 
Street  and  Capital  Avenue.  There  is  a  book, 
the  size  and  shape  and  general  appearance  of 
Spaulding's  Athletic  Guide,  with  the  same 
man  with  a  baseball  bat,  on  the  cover.  The 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  39 

near  pamphlet  has  no  wings  or  other  such 
fantastic  ornament  It  is  mundane  paper  and 
ink,  with  a  yellow  back. 

According  to  his  tale,  we  two  read  it  alone 
of  nights.  We  follow  its  counsel  as  one  would 
secret  foot-ball  signals.  We  do  not  betray  the 
source  of  our  wisdom  to  any  but  Mayor  Ko- 
pensky  and  his  friend  Dr.  Sims.  We  see  large 
results  of  our  labors.  We  two,  acting  for  the 
Mayor  and  the  Doctor,  smash  the  face  of 
everyone  who  does  not  submit  to  our  dogmas 
about  Hell,  which  we  get  from  the  very  front 
pages  of  the  book.  We  have  more  sluggers 
on  our  side  every  hour.  We  give  God  and  the 
Mayor  and  the  Doctor  the  glory,  and  take 
none  of  it  ourselves.  We  hear  no  music  in  the 
air  or  such  like  nonsense,  while  these  things 
are  going  on.  The  Cave  Man  insists  that  the 
town  is  much  improved  by  our  policy.  Of  his 
predestined  valor  I  may  discourse  at  an  op 
portune  time.  But  meanwhile  let  me  show 
you  a  further  variation  from  the  typical  story 
about  The  Golden  Book. 

I  am  more  eager  to  know  how  the  welfare 
worker  finds  herself  in  the  mirrors  of  2018 
than  to  receive  any  other  news  of  that  time 
from  her.  Despite  all  her  graces  she  has  no 
especial  personal  vanity.  She  is  more  imperi- 


40  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ous  than  vain.  But  I  gently  insist  upon  her 
confidence  till  she  confesses  that  she  finds  her 
self  in  the  mirrors  of  2018  much  the  same,  but 
with  a  greater  rush  of  blood  through  all  that 
magnificent  slender  frame,  and  a  consequent 
higher  color.  In  her  dream  she  rejoices  in  a 
great  resiliency,  a  greater  long-bow  curve  in 
action,  as  she  walks  with  even  more  of  her 
humorously  commanding  way.  Her  name  in 
the  new  time  is  Gwendolyn  Charles. 

Gwendolyn  Charles  is,  in  2018,  a  motion- 
picture  director  and  scenario  writer.  She 
claims  Eabbi  Terence  Ezekiel  and  many  other 
choice  spirits  among  her  stockholders  and 
backers. 

For  her  enterprise  generally  runs  at  a  loss, 
like  Grand  Opera,  and  great  orchestras,  and 
great  universities. 

I  must  at  this  time  concern  myself  with  her 
story  of  All  Saints'  Day,  2018.  Very  early  in 
the  morning  she  finds  herself  in  her  leading 
theatre  which  is  on  the  site  of  the  Old  Fancy 
Bazar  on  the  South  side  of  the  Square;  by  her 
side  is  the  aged  Kabbi  Terence  Ezekiel  mut 
tering  enthusiastically  to  himself  over  strange 
and  magnificent  doings.  With  him  are  the 
inner  company  of  enthusiasts  for  her  film  en 
terprise.  And  the  body  of  the  theatre  is  filled 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  41 

up  with  its  regular  patrons,  in  a  most  unusual 
frame  of  mind. 

There  is  thrown  upon  the  screen  the  produc 
tion  of  the  studios  for  that  month,  the  story 
of  Hunter  Kelly,  the  founder  of  Springfield, 
whose  regular  solemn  festival  is  July  elev 
enth,  but  who  is  celebrated  in  a  thousand 
ways;  all  year.  Unexpected  things  are  hap 
pening  in  the  operator's  box.  And  it  is 
a  new  kind  of  a  projecting  machine,  utterly 
beyond  the  current  devices.  But  let  us  con 
sider  the  story  of  Hunter  Kelly,  as  it  rolls  by 
on  the  screen,  the  early  part  of  which,  to  the 
year  1920,  has  been  long  known  to  me. 

Hunter  Kelly  was  an  Irish  Catholic  boy 
reared  in  a  Pittsburgh  orphan  asylum.  In 
the  very  first  years  of  the  nation  he  met,  and 
became  an  ardent  disciple  of,  John  Chapman 
— Johnny  Appleseed,  and  differed  from  him 
seriously  on  only  two  points,  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  hunting.  Kelly's  dearest  devo 
tion  was  re-reading  St.  Augustine's  "City  of 
God, "  which  he  carried  always  in  his  hunter's 
pouch,  by  his  powder  horn.  And  Johnny  Ap 
pleseed  's  dearest  devotion  was  in  reading  and 
re-reading  Swedenborg's  "Heaven  and  Hell," 
which  he  carried  in  his  seed-sack.  And  Hun 
ter  Kelly  would  shoot  deer,  over  whom  Johnny 


42  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Appleseed  would  weep.  So  these  two  were 
separated  when  Kelly's  lust  for  hunting  was 
on  him  like  the  passion  of  mighty  Nimrod. 
Then  he  would  live  through  an  almost  vege 
tarian  period,  travelling  and  planting  with 
John  Chapman — Johnny  Appleseed,  and  lis 
tening  to  his  great  monologues. 

They  began  together,  exploring  the  prime 
val  forests  near  Pittsburgh.  Each  season  they 
marched  further  west,  returning  in  the  fall  to 
the  cider  mills  of  Western  Pennsylvania,  to 
beg  and  sort  apple  seeds  for  next  spring's 
excursion  beyond  where  any  other  white  men 
fought  or  explored.  Kelly  and  John  Chapman 
parted  at  last  where  is  now  Fort  Wayne  in 
Northern  Indiana.  They  said  "  goodbye "  in 
great  love  and  devotion,  Kelly  swearing  on 
St.  Augustine's  "City  of  God"  to  plant  in 
honor  of  Johnny  Appleseed,  a  city  like  an 
apple  tree,  with  its  highest  boughs  in  Heaven, 
and  to  begin  by  sowing  there  a  special  breed 
of  apple  seeds  the  saint  gave  him  with  his  old 
leather  seed-sack  for  a  token. 

Kelly  joined  a  group  of  settlers  going  fur 
ther  west  of  the  same  name,  but  no  kin.  He 
entered  what  was  then  known  as,  the  "Sanga- 
maw"  Country  with  them  and  lived  in  their 
cabin  a  while.  In  tfyis  region  he  planted  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  43 

world's  first  orchards  of  Apple  Amaranth 
trees,  from  the  old  leather  sack. 

The  first  settlers  were  the  Kellys,  Mathe- 
neys  and  Elliots.  The  young  sower  of  mys 
teries  lived  alternately  in  their  great  log 
houses,  and  sat,  at  the  end  of  his  great 
wolf-hunts,  by  their  open  fireplaces.  The 
chief  of  the  local  wolf -pack  was  the  Devil,  and 
refused  to  be  slain.  At  last  he  took  on  his  true 
form  and  came  alone  to  Kelly  when  he  stood 
meditating  among  the  first  sprouts  of  the 
famous  Apple  Amaranth  Orchard,  and  there 
gave  the  young  fellow  words  of  admiration 
for  his  valor.  For  the  Devil  is  often  a  true 
sport. 

There  Kelly  made  a  compact  to  submit  him 
self  to  torture  for  many  years  if  the  pioneer 
city  of  his  vow  to  Johnny  Appleseed  might 
be  built  here.  He  and  the  Devil  swore  the 
compact  on  St.  Augustine's  "City  of  God." 

The  Devil  pledged  himself  that  if  the  young 
hunter's  soul  would  submit  itself  to  long  suf 
fering,  the  place  could  be  evolved  in  time.  Old 
Satan  laughed,  and  said  his  little  subordinate 
devils  would  then  be  guided  to  build  better 
than  they  knew.  The  Devil  did  not  carry  Hun 
ter  Kelly  to  Hell,  but  devised  a  special  tor 
ment.  He  buried  the  mystic  a  few  hundred 
feet  below  the  orchard.  In  the  hunter's  living 


44  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

skull  and  heart  were  entangled  the  roots  of 
the  first  Apple-Amaranth  Trees,  and  from 
them  all  others  of  this  region  come. 

The  Devil  has  a  great  respect  for  his  con 
tracts.  Every  year,  for  a  century  he  dug  up 
the  mystic  on  Hallowe'en  night,  and  showed 
him  the  city,  and  every  time  Kelly  said: 
"Take  me  back  to  my  torture.  The  City  is 
not  yet  started."  At  last,  when  the  lads  re 
turned  from  the  war  with  Germany,  and  the 
girls  returned  from  Bed  Cross  work,  and  the 
like,  in  the  summer  of  1919,  and  the  city  be 
gan  to  take  on  glory  both  visible  and  invisible, 
Hunter  Kelly  said  to  the  Devil:  "I  will  now 
trust  my  town  to  go  on.  At  last  they  are  eat 
ing  of  the  Apple  Amaranth,  which  they 
thought  was  poison.  They  are  even  trans 
planting  it." 

Thereupon  Hunter  Kelly  drove  the  Devil 
away  with  the  great  pickaxe  and  spade,  the 
same  which  had  often  dug  the  hunter  from 
the.  ground. 

From  this  pickaxe  on,  the  story  was  entirely 
new  to  the  screen,  and  much  of  it  new  to  the 
audience. 

Kelly  then  built  himself  a  cell  in  Heaven 
out  of  old  and  broken  fragments  of  forgotten 
palaces  in  the  far  jungles.  There  he  wrote 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  45 

The  Golden  Book  for  our  little  city  far  be 
low.  By  day  he  lived  as  that  boy  of  Spring 
field  who  grew  up  as  Saint  Scribe  of  the 
Shrines,  and  established  the  discipline  and 
ritual  of  The  One  Hundred  Shrines  of  the 
World.  He  was  rumored  among  a  few  of  us 
to  be  the  reincarnation  of  Hunter  Kelly.  He 
became  the  first  teacher  of  St.  Friend,  who 
wore  his  mantle  well  after  him.  And  now  he 
is  pictured,  in  many  a  dazzling  flame-like 
color,  throwing  down  from  the  window  of  his 
cell  in  heaven,  this  very  hour  of  All  Saint's 
Day,  The  Golden  Book  of  Springfield. 

All  this  is  the  first  intimation  to  Gwendolyn 
Charles  that  stranger  things  than  we  know 
may  happen  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  As  the 
wonder  upon  the  screen  moves  on,  with  no 
formula  of  orthodox  religion,  and  indeed  with 
a  sense  of  humor,  like  the  laughter  of  the 
skies,  she  understands  not  what  world  she  is 
in,  and  the  lovely  hedonist  and  artist  is 
shaken  with  the  passions  of  the  mystic  St. 
Catharine  of  Sienna. 

She  is  concerned  to  know  that  in  the  box  of 
the  projecting  machine  is  a  dazzling  presence, 
a  sort  of  giant  fairy,  a  little  larger  than  a  man, 
an  operator,  indeed,  one  she  has  not  hired. 
There  is  an  orchestra  of  giant  fairies,  who 


46  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

play  such  tunes  as  blue  bells  should  give  forth 
in  the  wild  woods. 

And  meantime,  according  to  her  tale,  the 
book  is  there,  pictured  on  the  screen,  circling 
around  the  domes  and  towers  of  Rabbi  Ter 
ence  Ezekiel's  heretical  synagogue  on  east 
Mason  Street.  And  so  the  Eabbi  makes  haste 
to  that  place,  and  a  few  friends  follow.  But 
many  people  in  the  audience  of  quite  different 
faiths  declare  that  those  are  their  own  church 
steeples  and  not  his  temple  towers,  and  hasten 
to  the  houses  of  their  belief.  Which  is  not  so 
strange,  to  one  who  has  been  in  a  law  court, 
for  there  it  is  demonstrated  that  a  witness  is 
somewhat  apt  to  see  and  remember  what  he 
desires  to  see  and  remember.  And  so  each 
finds  the  book  where  he  has  faith  to  find  it. 

The  Doubter  is  the  next  member  of  our  club 
to  testify  and  he  tells  of  the  midnight  visions 
he  has  already  described  to  me. 

He  is  reborn  as  Mayo  Sims,  physician  of  all 
the  great  saints  and  sinners  in  the  town.  In 
cidentally  he  is  the  political  ally  of  the  Rock 
and  Kopensky  families,  people  obscure  in 
1920,  since  they  are  but  tenants  on  his  farms, 
but  in  2018  in  the  city  government,  along  with 
the  tribe  of  Cave  Man  Thomas  and  others. 

The  physician  tells  first  to  me,  then  to  the 
rest  of  the  group  of  forecasters,  that  he  has 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  47 

seen  how  the  book  with  all  its  chronicles  and 
exhortations,  rituals  and  parables,  is  utterly 
rejected  by  the  mass  of  the  citizens  of  the 
Mystic  Year.  They  refuse  to  let  the  pages 
draw  conclusions  for  them  from  the  past  or 
move  them  with  hopes  for  the  future.  Accord 
ing  to  his  tale  the  volume  raises  a  faction  of 
desperate  malcontents,  whose  business,  beside 
fomenting  strikes,  is  to  sing  in  a  particularly 
nasal  whine.  Some  of  the  rank  and  file  of  this 
group  are  shot  down,  after  the  city  has  en 
dured  five  days  of  hideous  "racket,"  and 
more  hideous  vocal  music.  There  is  no  magic 
ballad  or  hymn  in  the  air. 

There  is  but  one  copy  of  the  book,  "thanks 
be."  It  is  full  of  sedition,  and  therefore  ta 
booed,  but  dog-eared  from  being  much  passed 
around  in  secret.  To  be  sure  it  has  a  cheap 
gilt  paper  cover.  It  is  captured  and  carried 
ten  miles  east  of  the  city  by  certain  friends  of 
law  and  order,  members  of  the  Bock  and  Ko- 
pensky  families,  led  by  Cave  Man  Thomas.  It 
is  dropped  into  an  abandoned  coal-shaft.  It 
goes  down  like  lead.  It  has  no  wings.  It  was 
written  by  hair-brained  sociologists,  some  of 
the  wild  ones  from  the  absurd  University  of 
Springfield,  not  by  "practical  business  men." 

It  is  not  rescued  from  the  shaft.  The  writ- 


48  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ers  of  the  work  go  back  to  their  legitimate 
teaching,  and  are  heard  from  never  again. 

The  Doubter  goes  on  to  give  the  genuine 
psycho-analytical  data  on  most  of  the  saints 
of  Springfield  at  that  time.  These  accounts 
are  from  his  confidential  records.  For  he 
treats  the  holy  ones  for  all  varieties  of  nerv 
ous  disorder,  epilepsy,  and  the  like.  He  is 
quite  sure  Christ  and  Mohammed  were  epi 
leptics,  and  that  settles  it  with  all  such  fool 
ishness.  But  perhaps  you  too  have  doubted. 

The  Doubter's  variety  of  revelation  during 
double  consciousness  is  not  all  certified  by  the 
man  who  dreams  he  becomes  Cave  Man 
Thomas.  It  is  not  quite  Y.  M.  C.  A.  enough. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HISTORY  OP  THE  MICHAELS  FROM  1920  TO  2018 

As  news  spreads  of  The  Prognosticated 
Club,  and  of  the  remarkable  tales  and  visions 
that  are  unfolded  there,  new  men  and  women 
come  to  us,  with  the  word  that  they,  too,  have 
a  dream,  persistent  and  recurring,  of  the 
Springfield  of  the  next  century.  One  such  is 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael — whose  father's 
story  belongs  here  in  our  narrative. 

While  many  of  the  blacksmith  shops  of 
Springfield  have  slowly  changed  to  garages, 
there  is  one  in  especial  that  has  resisted  the 
tide  in  a  formidable  way.  It  is  the  shop  lo 
cated  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Fifth  Street 
and  Capital  Avenue.  This  place  has  kept 
most  of  the  fancy  horse-shoeing  trade  of  the 
city  in  1920. 

The  aged  proprietor-patriarch,  "The  Iron 
Gentleman,"  still  does  the  heavy  part  of  the 
work.  He  has, — with  their  own  help,  indeed, 
put  three  sons  and  three  daughters  through 
college,  handsomely.  He  has  trained  his  sons 
to  his  business  and  the  extraordinary  secrets 
of  his  shop,  of  which  the  whole  tribe  are  in 
ordinately  proud. 

49 


50  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

In  early  youth  he  discovered  the  process  of 
hammering  out  the  old  Damascus  blades,  and 
vastly  improved  upon  it,  and  struck  off  a  new 
type  of  sword  for  the  world,  and  his  work  has 
remained  in  undeviating  pattern  and  quality 
ever  since.  At  his  simple  forge  he  hammers 
out  those  wonderful  swords  in  plain  sight  of 
the  passer-by  or  the  detective  from  Europe. 
They  cannot  grasp  the  secret.  He  named 
his  gift  to  the  world,  "The  Avanel  Blade. " 
It  is  waspish  and  supple,  all-conquering  in 
body  and  soul.  Sideways  it  can  be  wound 
like  watch  spring  steel,  or  even  a  coil  of  nar 
row  ribbon.  Edgewise  it  can  cut  more  human 
flesh  and  bone  than  the  heavy  guillotine,  it 
can  cut  straight  through  an  iron  or  granite 
block  of  any  thickness,  as  though  it  were 
cutting  snow.  In  its  standard  form  it  is 
longer  than  the  longest  cavalry  sword.  It  is 
the  assumption  of  the  strange  old  "Iron  Gen 
tleman  ' '  that  it  will  be  used  mostly  by  women, 
his  descendants,  and  in  battle  for  this  land. 
Legend  has  it  that  the  blade  is  named  for  a 
sweetheart  who  died  in  his  youth.  Certainly 
there  is  no  living  Avanel.  He  and  his  sons 
and  daughters,  all  of  them  trained  to  his 
trade,  have  shod  the  horses  of  the  notables  of 
the  country  round,  of  more  than  one  president 
of  the  United  States,  and  of  innumerable  for- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  51 

gotten  candidates  for  the  presidency  who  be 
gan  their  careers  by  ostentatiously  going  to 
his  humble  shop. 

His  daughters  are  quite  accomplished  in 
light,  ornamental  iron  work.  They  are  well 
bred,  high  strung  girls,  and  have  the  vital 
ity  of  young  tigers.  These  girls  and  their 
father  are  responsible  for  the  most  remark 
able  phenomenon  of  the  streets  of  Springfield 
in  1917.  Inspired  by  the  Amazons  of  the  Rus 
sian  Revolution,  at  the  very  beginning  of  that 
revolution,  before  it  was  declared  a  failure  by 
the  western  world,  they  filled  out  an  idea 
which  had  long  been  forming  in  their  minds, 
and  organized  a  troop  of  girl  cavalry  and 
offered  it  to  the  government  for  service 
against  Germany.  The  girls  were  fully  disci 
plined  and  equipped  at  the  time  of  the  decla 
ration  of  war.  Their  services  were  refused, 
and  almost  all  of  the  girls  went  into  the  stere 
otyped  war  work,  many  of  them  overseas. 
But  now  the  whole  body  of  troops  is  together 
again,  riding  our  streets  night  and  day,  armed 
with  the  Avanel  sword,  and  led,  quite  haugh 
tily,  by  the  Iron  Gentleman's  youngest  daugh 
ter. 

The  brothers  have  organized  a  similar 
group  of  cavalry,  armed  with  the  same  blade, 
and  call  it  The  Horse  Shoe  Brotherhood. 


52  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

But,  of  course,  it  has  not  attracted  the  same 
attention  as  the  dazzling  girls.  The  Horse 
Shoe  Brotherhood  was  not  accepted  by  the 
government  as  a  body.  They  enlisted,  or  were 
drafted,  one  at  a  time,  in  a  conventional  fash 
ion.  Many  of  the  cavalry  girls,  following  the 
example  of  the  Michael  women,  are  often 
gritty  enough  to  shoe  their  own  horses. 

The  "Iron  Gentleman "  is  lean  and  ruddy, 
with  a  hooked  and  hatchet  face.  He  has  the 
habit  of  pointing  his  long,  skinny  fingers  at 
the  enemy  he  denounces,  who  may  be  present 
in  imagination,  or  even  in  fact,  while  the  ora 
tory  flows.  Every  street  corner  of  Springfield 
is  haunted  with  the  legends  of  a  series  of 
fist  fights  in  the  boyhood  biography  of  "The 
Iron  Gentleman, "  election  scrimmages  of  his 
young  manhood,  and  the  like.  It  is  said  that 
at  the  interesting  age  of  fourteen  he  broke 
half  the  street  lamps  of  Springfield  with  well 
thrown  cinders  until  one  evening  when  he  had 
his  jacket  thoroughly  dusted  by  a  most  ener 
getic  father.  He  had  several  personal  en 
counters  on  the  streets  of  Springfield  in 
middle  age,  horsewhipping  some  hereditary 
enemy,  or  thwarting  some  hereditary  enemy 
who  threatened,  imminently,  to  horsewhip 
him. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  53 

''The  Iron  Gentleman "  is  a  savage  only  two 
or  three  days  in  the  year  in  his  old  age.  He 
tells  his  boys'  and  girls'  children  and  grand 
children,  that  they  are  to  shoe  horses  and 
ideas  forevermore,  and  send  these  ideas  gal 
loping  across  the  world,  sure  footed;  and  his 
family  are  to  keep  on  doing  this,  whether  the 
town  likes  it  or  not.  He  tells  them  to  hammer 
out  swords  perfectly  tempered  and  to  put 
their  own  souls  on  the  anvil  and  hammer  them 
till  they  are  swords  likewise,  and  to  go  forth 
and  cut  their  way  through  the  world,  and 
bring  back  the  heads  of  their  enemies  to 
Springfield  and  hang  them  in  rows  in  front 
of  their  forges,  whether  the  town  likes  it  or 
not. 

"The  Iron  Gentleman "  and  his  sons  have 
revived  the  cult  of  boxing  and  bare  fist  fight 
ing,  and  as  a  result  there  is  many  a  black  eye 
and  bloody  nose  among  both  "delicate," 
and  "muckers"  of  Springfield.  We  are  as 
thoroughly  damaged  as  German  duelling  stu 
dents,  though  with  not  quite  the  same  marks. 
And  the  boy  scouts  are  getting  battered  up, 
and  something  must  be  done  to  put  a  stop 
to  this. 

"The  Iron  Gentleman"  and  his  two  older 
sons  have  the  forge-burned  faces  of  black 
smiths.  But  though  the  youngest  excels  in 


54  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

their  accomplishments,  he  is  more  a  brother 
of  his  father's  cavalry-sword,  the  Damascus 
Blade. 

Like  the  rest  he  is  tall  and  slender,  but  there 
is  a  difference.  He  hardly  needs  his  father's 
gift  to  the  world;  he  is  such  a  fencer  with  the 
shorter  and  more  conventional  blade.  He 
looks  like  the  flattering  portraits  of  Louis 
Fourteenth  of  France,  that  were  made  in  that 
monarch's  youth.  He  has  a  great  turn  for 
pageantry,  though  with  him  it  has  taken  a 
completely  democratic  phase.  There  is  no 
sounder  citizen  in  all  his  works  and  ways 
than  this  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael.  He  has 
studied  long  under  Thomas  Wood  Stevens, 
William  Chauncey  Langdon,  and  Percy  Mac- 
kaye.  And  so  he  has  established  a  pageantry 
calendar  for  the  city  which  has  been  adopted 
by  the  City  Commissioners,  backed  by  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce,  the  Art  Association, 
the  Rotary  Club,  the  Lion's  Club,  and  the  Op 
timist's  Club. 

He  has  somewhat  mitigated  the  "scrap 
ping"  of  the  boy  scouts  by  evolving  a  code 
book  of  chivalry  for  them,  and  it  endeavors 
to  impart  taboos,  observances,  and  as  well, 
honorifics  for  real  merit.  He  ties  up  all  these 
with  the  pomps  of  his  calendar.  He  it  is  that 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  55 

imparts  to  his  youthful  followers  a  special 
consideration  for  the  ladies,  and  reverence  for 
their  beauty. 

He  fought  at  the  Meuse-Argonne,  was  all 
through  the  battle  of  a  little  more  than  five 
weeks'  length  from  September  26,  1918,  on 
through  hell  and  glory  to  November  first, 
when  the  American  First  Army  cut  like  magic 
swords  through  those  four  intricate  systems 
of  German  defenses,  that  were  spread  out 
over  those  famous  ten  miles.  On  November 
the  first  he  and  many  Springfield  boys,  in 
cluding  his  two  blacksmith  brothers,  were  go 
ing  on  like  fate,  like  their  own  irresistible 
blades  which  they  managed  to  carry  into  that 
long  five  weeks'  battle.  In  all  this  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  exquisite,  was  the 
dashing  leader  of  his  group,  a  private  in  the 
ranks,  but  from  the  beginning  to  the  e"nd,  a 
sword.  And  they  swept  forward  with  the 
American  First  Army  till  the  very  end  of 
hostilities  on  the  eleventh  of  November.  They 
did  their  full  share  of  the  work  of  that  Ameri 
can  First  Army,  which,  the  experts  say,  took 
sixteen  thousand  prisoners,  468  guns,  2,664 
machines  guns,  177  trench  mortars,  made  an 
advance  of  34  miles  in  47  days  and  set  free 
1,550  square  kilometers  of  French  ground  and 
150  villages. 


56  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Indeed  they  took  their  due  part  in  that 
battle  which  saved  the  world. 

It  is  at  the  end  of  this  battle,  at  the  dawn 
before  Armistice  Day,  November  11,  1918, 
that  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  exquisite, 
has  his  vision  of  the  year  2018.  He  dreams 
of  leaving  Springfield  for  a  similar  battle 
in  Asia,  with  a  far  more  uncertain  out 
come.  He  is  about  to  go  forth  with  The  Horse 
Shoe  Brotherhood  and  the  Amazon  Eiders, 
armed  one  and  all  with  the  Avanel  Sword, 
against  the  strange  nation  of  the  Singapo- 
rians,  who  are  blasting  the  world  with  their 
demon  ambition  as  did  the  Germans  of  1914. 
And  he  bears  the  same  name.  He  is  known  as 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  is  an 
old  man,  with  a  pageant  leader  for  a  son: — 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third. 

Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  has 
reverted  to  an  exaggeration  of  "The  Iron 
Gentleman. "  His  son,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  in  2018  an  exquisite:  almost  gone  to 
seed,  a  histrionic  silly.  Bartholdi  Second 
that  is  to  be,  touches  on  the  history  of  the 
clan  for  one  hundred  years,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Prognosticated  Club.  On  looking  deeply 
into  his  dream  he  finds  that  his  father  is  still 
known  among  the  descendants  as  "The  Iron 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  57 

Gentleman."  About  1925  the  children  and 
grandchildren  took  for  their  family  flag  the 
picture  of  six  anvils,  and  above  them  six  ham 
mers. 

In  the  Mystic  Year  the  cottages  of  these 
people  are  scattered  in  every  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  the  flag  with  the  six  anvils  and  six 
hammers  flies  in  front  of  almost  every  cottage 
of  a  descendant,  man  or  woman.  The  male 
descendants,  of  whatever  name  or  high  educa 
tion,  are  blacksmiths  and  forge  workers  and 
makers  of  the  Avanel  blade,  as  are  indeed 
many  of  the  women.  It  seems  to  take  the 
Michael  hammer  stroke  to  make  that  blade. 
With  a  few  temporary  exceptions,  the  men 
are  busy  horse-shoeing  for  the  Amazons  and 
making  swords. 

And  with  the  exception  of  a  few  too  ex 
quisite  creatures  like  Joseph  Bartholdi,  III, 
the  clan  is  not  inbred.  The  greater  part  of  the 
brains  of  the  tribe  is  still  in  their  legs  and 
arms,  not  off  in  a  separate  compartment  in 
their  skulls. 

By  dint  of  earnest  cross-questioning,  I  get 
it  from  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  that  he  has 
been  a  figure  in  Illinois  in  dreams  of  2000- 
2018.  He  has  been  the  author  in  precocious 
youth  of  a  book,  entitled:  " Paper  Made  Na 
tions,"  a  treatise  on  the  laws  of  flying  ma- 


58  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

chine  commerce,  and  it  became  the  basis  of  the 
economic  side  of  Black  Hawk  Boone's  pet 
theory  and  way  of  life. 

According  to  the  model,  Joseph  Bartholdi, 
in  his  reincarnation,  has  shod  the  horses 
of  many  a  governor  of  Illinois  and  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,  and  President 
of  the  World  Government.  This  husky, 
distinguished  democracy  combines  with  the 
prestige  of  his  precocious  book  to  make  him 
the  most  distinguished  representative  of 
the  teeming  2018  Middle  West,  in  the 
World  Government.  He  champions  there  the 
ceremonies  and  honors  due  the  International 
Flag  with  the  loyalty  to  what  they  like 
and  a  sense  of  the  depths  of  pageantry,  that 
has  distinguished  the  Michael  following  from 
the  beginning.  Portia,  the  Singing  Aviator, 
has  in  the  generation  of  the  Mystic  Year,  writ 
ten  the  local  song  about '  '  The  Patchwork  Flag 
of  Michael  and  the  World. ' '  And  she  calls  it 
in  the  same  song:  " Joseph's  Coat  of  Many 
Colors"  or  "The  Flag  of  Joseph's  Coat"  in 
allusion  to  his  fashion  of  almost  draping  it 
around  him,  with  the  Star  Spangled  Banner, 
when  he  is  speaking  on  high  occasions,  on 
international  issues. 

Instead  of  an  exquisite,  he  is  lean,  wiry, 
with  a  hooked  and  hatchet  face,  burned, 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  59 

cooked,  in  the  forge.  He  finds  he  has  the  habit 
of  pointing  his  long,  skinny  fingers  at  the 
enemy  he  denounces.  He  finds  that,  like  his 
progenitor,  "The  Iron  Gentleman, "  he  has  a 
record  of  putting  things  through  with  sheer 
fury  when  there  is  no  other  weapon  handy. 

He  tells  the  Prognosticated  Club,  that, 
through  the  century,  the  flag  with  the  six 
hammers  and  the  six  anvils  has  been  smeared 
by  renegades.  But  the  proud  truth-speaking 
custom  has  tortured  the  whole  clan  till  some 
one  has  risen  to  confess  the  sins  of  the  name, 
and  start  new. 

And  the  Michaels  have  been  hated  off  and 
on  for  a  whole  century  because  of  these 
things,  and  because  they  were  always  hating 
some  one,  even  without  cause.  They  were  apt 
to  be  jealous  of  other  vigorous  citizens,  con 
sidering  themselves  the  sole  saviors  of  the 
principle  of  defiant  democracy.  But  all  the 
century  the  leading  Michaels  have  seemed  to 
be  saying:  "A  town  well  hammered  into 
shape  is  better  than  fortune  or  fame."  Few 
Michaels  were  guilty  of  living  a  private  and 
secluded  existence. 

Few  maidens  were  crowned  with  lovelier 
hair  or  carried  themselves  with  finer  mien 
than  the  granddaughters  and  great  grand 
daughters  of  the  ' '  Iron  Gentleman. ' '  The  stock 


60  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

has  gone  on  in  beauty  and  strength  through,  the 
vision  of  a  century.  Yet  in  2018  it  seems  that 
the  scepter  is  just  a  little  departing  from  the 
younger  generation.  It  is  not  that  they  are 
ousted  from  public  office.  The  fearless  voice 
of  a  Michael  always  counts  most  as  a  private 
citizen,  and,  whenever  Joseph  Bartholdi  Mi 
chael,  the  Second,  returns  from  The  World 
Government,  he  takes  his  place  in  the  Horse 
Shoe  Brotherhood  as  a  private  in  the  ranks 
beside  his  son  Joseph  Bartholdi,  the  Third, 
and  it  is  their  full  intention,  according  to 
hereditary  political  habit,  to  ride  against 
Singapore,  when  the  time  is  ripe,  as  privates 
in  the  ranks. 

But  a  new  clan  has  come  up  from  Cairo, 
Illinois,  led  by  Black  Hawk  Boone.  Many  of 
their  young  girls  look  more  like  young  Indian 
maids  from  a  government  reservation  school, 
than  people  of  Caucasian  stock.  But,  for  all 
that,  they  have  their  own  original  ways  of 
delicate  manner  and  address,  most  disconcert 
ing  to  the  fixed  limits  of  Springfield's  conven 
tionality.  They  are  rather  short  and  heavy- 
set.  Their  merry  young  men  and  middle-aged 
men  have,  most  of  them,  long,  curly  black 
lovelocks  to  the  shoulders,  not  carefully 
combed,  and  nearly  all  defiantly  wag  big  black 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  61 

beards  in  every  argument,  when  all  other  men 
in  the  modern  world  are  shaved  clean. 

They  cheerfully  hate  the  blacksmith  clan 
which  they  are  ousting  by  a  greater  talent  for 
fury,  preaching,  and  cursing,  and  by  having 
just  a  little  more  brain  at  the  back  of  the  neck. 

The  town  wits  say  these  clans  hate  each 
other  because,  on  the  whole,  they  are  so 
much  alike,  and  always  vote  the  same  way  at 
a  crisis.  The  locks  of  both  the  Boone  men  and 
women  stream  back  over  their  shoulders,  and 
their  left  hands  are  dyed  crimson  as  a  proud 
perpetual  reminder  to  themselves  and  all  the 
world  that  among  their  ancestors  were 
aborigines. 

But  America  has  not  suffered  the  regime  of 
nigh  two  hundred  years  of  baseball  umpires : — 
and  presidential  elections  accepted  by  Novem 
ber  15  by  the  defeated  party,  without  a  dis 
position  to  be  good  sports  on  the  part  of  self- 
respecting  clans  like  these.  And  so  it  comes 
about  to  stir  the  romantic  soul  of  the  town 
that  the  Avanel  Blade  of  the  "Iron  Gentle 
man"  of  1920  has  become  a  woman  in  2018, 
but  a  woman  no  kin  to  the  Michaels.  In  2018 
Horse  Shoe  Brotherhood  and  Michael  Ama 
zons  are  under  one  commander,  the  lovely 
Lady  Avanel  Boone,  and,  though  they  be 
armed  with  the  Avanel  Blade  indeed,  she 


62  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

scores  a  point  in  family  pride  and  makes  them 
swear  fealty  on  Daniel  Boone's  old  hunting 
knife,  which  she  carries  in  her  belt  as  a  token 
of  her  Kentucky  forbears. 

And  now,  as  the  son  of  the  "Iron  Gentle 
man"  tells  the  story,  it  comes  as  a  clouded 
vision  before  me,  as  though  I  were  half  in  the 
vision  and  beginning  a  destiny  of  my  own. 

It  is  the  snowy  morning  of  All  Saint's 
Day,  2018,  the  Michael  Clan  and  a  general 
assembly  of  Springfield  people  are  at  the 
crossing  of  Fifth  Street  and  Capital  Avenue, 
and  by  the  ancestral  forge  on  the  southeast 
corner.  The  fire  is  burning  high  and  the  bel 
lows  is  roaring.  The  horse  of  the  conquering 
Avanel  Boone  is  to  be  shod  by  that  good  sport 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  who 
has  just  returned  from  the  World  Government 
to  take  his  modest  place  in  the  ranks  of  her 
following.  And  then  there  are  these  curly 
haired,  black  browed,  black  bearded  rascals 
to  whom  all  Michaels  must  be  polite,  and  these 
Red-Indian  looking  girls  and  boys,  Avanel's 
innumerable  adoring  cousins  who  are  publicly 
admiring  her  with  hectic  words  and  kissing 
her  with  sugar  sweetness  and  honest  family 
idolatry.  There  is  a  touch  of  the  uncanny,  the 
restless,  the  Ishmaelite  about  all  these  Boones, 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  63 

they  have  no  business  in  the  streets  of  a  town. 
They  look  like  dressed-up  wood-choppers,  all 
but  that  trim  Avanel. 

While  the  snow  is  blowing  into  the  shop, 
white-haired  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the 
Second,  has  taken  the  old  shoes  from  the 
dainty  feet  of  the  white  pony,  and,  just  as 
he  is  lifting  a  new  shoe  from  the  fire  and  the 
flames  leap  up,  there  is  a  music  incredibly 
sweet,  and  with  a  great  whirring  of  wings 
and  terrible  thunder  "The  Book"  flies  out 
of  the  fire,  and  circles  above  these  two  clans. 
Avanel  with  eyes  fixed  and  strained  in  won 
der,  follows  it  on  her  unshod  horse.  The  Book 
settles  into  her  arms,  and  I  see  her  sit  above 
the  company  like  a  fairy  in  a  trance,  and  read 
with  adoring  voice  from  the  snow  white  book 
while  the  assembled  clans  and  all  the  citizens 
gather  close  to  hear. 

The  first  pages  of  the  volume  give  in  jewel 
led  and  flaming  letters  a  new  charter  and  con 
stitution  for  the  World  Government,  based  on 
the  life  and  teaching  of  Springfield's  death 
less  citizen,  Abraham  Lincoln. 

There  is  in  the  air  an  exquisite  song  and 
around  the  consecrated  Avanel  a  glory  ineffa 
ble,  for  she  is  the  High  Priestess  of  The  Book 
for  her  people.  The  song  in  the  air  praises 
her,  and  urges  her,  and  all  those  she  com- 


64.  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

mands,  to  valor  for  the  Heavenly  Star  Span 
gled  Banner  and  the  Heavenly  International 
Flag.  And  the  song  whispers  that  the  book, 
in  many  strange  forms,  will  appear  in  many 
a  green  field  of  our  middle  west  this  day,  in 
many  a  pulpit  and  many  a  lonely  mourner's 
house  to  give  life  and  eternal  light. 

But,  as  my  neighbor  from  the  blacksmith 
shop  of  1920  tells  the  tale  more  slowly,  the 
vision  turns  to  mere  words  again,  and  then  to 
dust  and  ashes.  And  I  myself  seem  but  ashes 
on  the  winds  of  time. 

The  histories  of  the  future  in  the  Prognos- 
ticaior's  Club  are  no  more  contradictory  than 
the  accounts  our  fathers  give  of  the  leading 
events  of  the  Civil  War. 

Everywhere  South  of  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line  they  say  that  Grant  surrendered  to  Lee. 
It  is  in  every  southern  school  book.  When  we 
look  into  history  we  are  made  dizzy  by  cloud 
and  flame.  And  we  shall  still  be  partizans  in 
the  highest  Heaven.  There  are  many  earthly 
languages.  There  are  many  heavenly  lan 
guages.  There  are  many  blazing,  blinding  to 
morrows.  But  they  all  lead  to  the  same  glori- 
ous»tomorrow  at  last. 

The  Prognosticators  are  a  dithyrambic, 
chanting,  improvising  howling  dervish  set, 
with  a  certain  sense  of  humor  among  all  these 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  65 

blinding  lights,  which  is  but  to  say  they  have 
elasticity  of  soul  and  mind. 

Many  of  the  Michael  Clan  of  Springfield,  of 
1920,  returned  soldiers,  Red  Cross  nurses,  and 
other  workers,  saw  kindred  visions  of  the 
Flying  Book  of  Springfield  blazing  above  the 
trenches  at  midnight  for  their  comfort,  while 
voices  in  the  air  sang  them  stories  of  home. 

Eeader,  in  your  town  many  like  these  are 
brooding  alone  over  unaccountable  vistas  of 
the  future  of  their  city,  that  have  come  to 
them  in  battle  or  by  the  fireside  or  in  the 
storm.  They  have  found  themselves  standing 
momently  at  cross  streets  of  vision,  before 
they  felt  their  hearts  to  be  as  dust  again.  Call 
them  together.  Blow  ashes  into  flame.  Start 
a  brotherhood  of  your  own.  Live  in  the  New 
City  that  is  revealed  to  you,  as  we  are  living 
in  our  City  and  in  the  streets  of  our  Tomor 
row. 


CHAPTER  V 

I   ENTER   INTO   THE   NEW   SPRINGFIELD   OF  2018.    I  AM 

SNUBBED    BY   AVANEL,    SHE    RELENTS,    SHOWING    ME 

MANY     PANORAMAS     OF     NEW     SPRINGFIELD.      WE 

CONFESS    TO    HAVING    THE    SAME    DREAM    OF 

DEVIL'S    GOLD. 

But  it  is  not  after  the  noble  manner  of  these 
others  that  I  enter  at  last  into  the  vision  of 
2018. 

There  is  deep  darkness,  and  time  passing 
by  without  end,  and  shade.  There  is  the  fear 
of  the  moles  that  will  not  leave  me  alone,  who 
make  nests  of  alien  dust,  beneath  my  ribs. 
Aoid  my  bones  crumble  through  the  century, 
like  last  year 's  autumn  leaves.  Then  there  is, 
alternating  with  drouth,  bitter  frost.  And 
roots  wrap  my  heart  and  brain.  And  there  is 
sleep. 

Then  a  galloping  and  gay  shrieking, 
away  on  the  road,  to  the  East  of  Oak  Ridge! 
And  though  I  am  six  feet  beneath  the  ground 
the  eyes  of  the  soul  are  given  me.  I  see  won 
derful  young  horsewomen  out  on  that  Great 
Northwest  Road  and  the  ancient  clay  between 
me  and  that  cavalcade  turns  to  air  and  to 

66 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  67 

light.  And  I  am  asking  myself  as  the  Girl 
Leader  goes  by  like  a  meteor:  "Am  I  coming 
up  again  through  the  earth  as  weed  or  flame 
or  man  f  If  I  rise  from  this  grave,  I  am  com 
ing  but  to  praise  her,  if  I  may. ' ' 

There  is  deep  darkness  again,  and  sleep, 
and  when  next  I  awake  I  am  in  the  midst  of  a 
terrible  March  rain,  and  I  run  for  refuge  into 
Dodd's  Drug  Store.  It  is  the  old  Fifth  and 
Monroe  corner.  I  buy  the  early  afternoon  Reg 
ister  from  a  bawling  newsboy.  It  is  dated 
March  first,  2018.  Soon  the  storm  abates  a 
little,  but  it  is  a  freezing,  thawing,  wind- 
whistling,  late  afternoon.  It  is  dusk,  and  I  am 
walking  South  on  what  was  once  Third  Street, 
but  is  now  Mulberry  Boulevard,  with  the  Chi 
cago  and  Alton  railroad  long  gone.  And  I  am 
with  that  girl  who  awakened  me,  Avanel 
Boone,  and  there  is  no  poetry  about  it  at  all. 
It  is  obvious  by  the  air  with  which  she  takes 
possession  of  me  and  hustles  me  down  that 
rain  and  sleet-scourged  avenue,  that  she  con 
siders  herself  the  heroine  of  my  story.  But 
dear  me,  what  stubborn  material  for  a  hero 
ine.  Here,  after  a  century,  woman  is  the  same 
she  always  was. 

To  put  it  in  restrained  phrases  she  is,  in  her 
disposition,  like  the  weather.  She  scolds  me 


68"THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

for  the  impressed  state  of  my  clothes,  and  my 
mussed  hair,  and  my  lack  of  air  of  distinction. 
She  says  I  have  slept  in  my  clothes  so  much 
that  they  are  in  a  perfectly  abused  condition. 

I  admit  that  I  have  not  consulted  a  tailor 
for  some  little  time.  She- says  I  carry  myself 
as  though  I  were  a  ditch  digger  or  were  fol 
lowing  the  plough,  instead  of  walking  with  a 
lady.  She  lashes  me  for  what  she  alleges 
are  my  ridiculous  ideas,  and  goes  over  the 
catalogue  till  it  is  impossible  to  enjoy  the 
panorama  that  I  glimpse  through  the  bracing 
sleet  and  rain,  and  I  scarcely  care  to  look  at 
her,  the  little  devil,— though  she  is  to  be  my 
heroine. 

The  only  flattering  thing  about  the  en 
counter  is  the  air  of  settled  proprietorship  of 
this  young  lady. 

At  length  there  is  silence  and  I  chase  along 
meekly  beside  her  under  the  umbrella,  and 
cool  down,  and  do  her  the  honor  to  look  her 
over  as  well  as  I  can  in  the  storm.  Her  face  is 
half  hidden  by  her  flapping  waterproof  cape 
and  we  are  walking  under  tremendous  shade 
trees.  I  note  her  chin  quite  high  in  the  air,  her 
spirited  profile  set  straight  forward,  and  her 
cheeks,  with  color  that  goes  like  a  blown-out 
flame  and  then  comes  again  like  a  heart-beat. 

March  2,  2018; — I  am  again  in  my  New  City. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  69 

I  begin  the  day  by  reading  the  Illinois  State 
Journal  of  March  2;  it  is  the  same  paper  as 
of  old.  I  note  the  advertisements  of  laundries, 
screen  factories,  cleaners  and  dyers,  apple 
merchants,  dealers  in  hats  and  caps,  dealers 
in  hay,  grain  and  feed,  places  for  the  purchase 
of  fish,  game  and  oysters,  poultry  and  eggs, 
etc.  I  note  ladies'  furnishing  establishments, 
retail  dry  goods  stores,  bakeries,  headquar 
ters  for  cash  registers,  meat  markets,  the  es 
tablishments  of  upholsterers,  places  where 
may  be  found  parcel  delivery  messengers, 
lists  of  dealers  in  flour  and  feed,  various  ad 
vertisements  of  baggage  and  transfer  com 
panies,  dealers  in  wall  paper,  paints,  oils  and 
varnish,  and  everything  in  advertisements  in 
the  Journal  to  convince  me  that  this  is  the 
same  old  paper,  and  the  same  old  capital  city. 
Yet  I  am  endowed  with  new  powers.  I  go 
about  the  streets  as  a  sort  of  a  millennial 
chameleon.  I  find  myself  wearing  various 
bodies.  First  I  am  but  myself,  kneeling  be 
fore  the  Image  of  the  Virgin,  in  the  church 
of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.  In  an  hour  I  am  a 
City  Hall  stenographer,  in  the  office  of  the 
Mayor.  This  Mayor  is  referred  to  in  the  Jour 
nal  as  ' i  Slick  Slack  Kopensky. ' '  Later  in  the 
morning  I  am  clerk  for  Justice  of  the  Peace 
John  Boat,  whose  office  is  right  by  the  jail. 


70  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

And  both  the  jail  and  the  office  stairs  have  the 
same  old  skunk  smell  that  has  distinguished 
jails  and  the  stairs  of  justice  from  the  begin 
ning.  Later,  in  the  afternoon,  I  am  an  emer 
gency  messenger  for  the  Japanese  depart 
ment  of  the  World's  Fair  of  the  University 
of  Springfield,  and  am,  to  all  appearances,  a 
Japanese.  I  find  myself  wearing  the  clothes 
and  shoes  of  these  various  supernumeraries, 
and  in  my  double  consciousness,  knowing 
their  affairs  all  through,  as  though  I  had 
lived  in  their  frames  twenty  years.  Yet  no 
matter  whose  body  I  seem  to  wear  or  whose 
tongue  I  seem  to  be  wagging,  I  step  back  into 
the  same  yokel  when,  once  in  the  morning,  and 
once  in  the  afternoon,  between  these  episodes 
I  find  myself  cowering  in  the  presence  of 
Comrade  Avanel.  It  is  a  cloudy,  foggy  day, 
and  fog  seems  to  come  between  us  whenever 
I  try  to  look  at  her.  In  the  morning  I  win 
her  hard  consent  to  take  yesterday's  walk 
again,  and  she  promises  not  to  scold  me,  only 
flinging  out  the  assertion  that  I  am  a  diamond 
in  the  rough  and  that  it  is  her  business  to 
polish  me : — a  statement  I  seem  to  have  heard 
before  somewhere. 

In  the  afternoon  she  behaves,  and  the  fog 
blows  away  after  a  while  and  I  am  able  to 
enjoy  the  vision  of  this  proud  quivering  young 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  71 

body  and  soul.  From  beneath  the  bantam- 
rooster  air  emerges  a  little  glimpse  of  the 
sibyl. 

For  all  her  tailor-made  smartness,  she  is 
like  the  Indian,  and  walks  unimpeded  as 
though  in  moccasins.  Her  hair  is  black  and 
long  and  straight,  and  today  her  fashion  plate 
profile  is  changed  to  something  more  native 
American.  Yet  her  skin  is  so  white  and  her 
cheeks  are  so  red,  and  the  flush  comes  and 
goes  so  fast,  the  Indian  illusion  has  com 
pletely  disappeared  when  she  turns  her  face 
to  me.  Her  changing  elusive  face  has  a  haunt 
ing  kinship  to  the  countenance  of  my  favorite 
and  adored  image  of  the  virgin  that  has  been 
for  much  more  than  a  century  to  the  north  of 
the  high  altar  of  the  church  of  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Paul,  where  I  have  been  again  meditating 
this  very  morning.  And  I  try  to  tell  her  that 
she  is  a  more  earthly  younger  sister  of  this 
virgin,  but  indeed  of  the  same  tribe  and  house 
of  saints. 

When  she  bows  her  head  in  what  may  be 
dreaming,  there  is  to  my  foolish  imagination 
a  hint  of  Pallas  Athena  about  the  action. 
When  she  lifts  her  head,  and  looks  me  full  in 
the  face  all  the  upper  part  of  her  countenance 
is  definitely  a  feminized  portrait  of  Shelley, 
and  she  wears  those  curls  hiding  either  ear 


72  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

after  the  smartest  fashion  of  2018.  They  are 
called  the  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  curls,  and 
copied  from  those  in  the  most  frequent  por 
trait  of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  when  she  was 
a  dazzling  young  woman.  I  try  to  tell  Avanel 
how  her  beauty  seems,  but  my  speeches  are 
not  eloquent  and  my  heroine  is  neither  poetess 
nor  prophetess  in  her  replies.  She  says  "I 
cannot  be  all  of  those  creatures.  Your  figures 
contradict/' 

I  answer:  "Step  into  my  hall  of  mirrors, 
and  you  will  discover  yourself  to  be  all  I  have 
said,  and  a  devil  in  the  bargain." 

She  drifts  to  speaking  of  her  father,  born 
in  southern  Illinois,  descendant  on  one  side 
from  Daniel  Boone,  and  on  another  from  a 
Kentucky  Indian  chief  of  long  ago.  For  the 
first  time  that  high  throaty  snobbish  manner 
ism  and  affected  even  tone  disappear  from 
her  voice,  and  she  speaks  as  a  human  creature 
should.  She  cannot  be  a  society  chatterbox 
when  discussing  her  clan. 

She  goes  on  to  tell  how  her  mother  came  of 
two  long  lines  of  Springfield  Catholics.  And 
I  gather,  as  Avanel  talks  on  and  on,  and  I 
piece  it  out  from  dim  memories  that  float 
about  the  back  of  my  head,  that  two  lines  of 
her  mother's  house  were  the  one  Irish,  and 
the  other  Lithuanian,  and  that  long  ago  this 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  73 

woman  was  the  most  famous  dancer  of  The 
Gordon  Craig  Theatre.  She  died  in  AvanePs 
fifteenth  year.  And  it  seemed  in  the  local 
fitness  of  things  for  the  little  girl  with  the 
same  talent  to  go  forward  bearing  the  same 
responsibilities  as  soon  as  she  could  carry 
them,  dancers  coming  to  their  own  early,  if 
they  ever  have  a  place.  She  was  soon  the  head 
of  all  those  who  could  make  Springfield's  de 
votional  ideals  clear  and  appealing,  through 
those  inherited  rituals.  Avanel  and  her  group 
have  danced  for  the  Churches  at  Christmas 
and  other  times,  and,  in  the  history  of  her  art 
most  important  of  all,  the  festivals  of  Johnny 
Applesed,  and  of  St.  Scribe  and  Hunter 
Kelly.  And  now  I  begin  to  remember  with 
her  some  of  those  occasions  as  through  rifts 
of  cloud. 

Now  Avanel  says  she  does  not  want  me  to  be 
seen  in  the  audience  where  she  gives  a  relig 
ious  dance.  She  is  angry  with  herself  and  me, 
because  she  is  herself  flattening  out  so,  after 
talking  on  religious  matters.  But  I  am  philo 
sophical  about  this  young  woman,  today,  and 
look  about  at  what  we  are  passing. 

We  stare  silently  into  the  windows  at  add 
ing  machines,  mantels,  grates,  and  tiles.  We 
pass  a  wholesale  house  for  barber  supplies, 


74  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

and  Avanel  says  I  need  a  hair  cut.  We  pass 
the  business  houses  of  feather-renovators  and 
dealers,  of  dealers  in  safes  and  locks,  and 
rubber  stamps.  I  note  aloud  in  passing  that 
Avanel  has  many  rubber  stamp  ideas  and 
needs  to  alter  them  if  she  would  do  justice  to 
her  glorious  face.  She  answers  not.  We  walk 
on.  We  pass  through  a  wholesale  region,  and 
while  the  fog  still  conceals  the  towers  of  the 
town  and  comes  lower,  we  can  look  into  the 
windows  yet,  and  I  note  that  this  is  not  as  in 
the  century  before.  Almost  every  wholesaler 
lias  a  dazzling  insignia  and  coat  of  arms.  This 
is  true  for  instance  of  the  manufacturing  ma 
chinists  and  millwrights,  the  headquarters  for 
tempering  and  dies.  It  is  true,  even,  of  the 
dealers  in  sand  and  gravel,  the  tinners  and 
slate  roofers,  the  transfer  and  trucking  com 
panies,  the  brick  and  tile  manufacturers,  the 
soda  water  manufacturers,  the  pump  manu 
facturers,  the  cigar  manufacturers,  the  leather 
and  belting  men,  and  many  others  that  to  me 
were  most  commonplace  of  old.  But  their 
window  displays  are  as  the  throne  rooms  of 
knighthood. 

March  3: — Mist  and  darkness  of  soul  are 
clearing  away.  And  I  am  welcomed  in  my 
real  and  permanent  aspect  in  the  streets 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  75 

of  the  New  Springfield,  by  many  fellow  citi 
zens  that  it  appears  I  have  known  for  long. 
I  am  to  them  also  the  yokel  Avanel  thinks 
me  to  be,  and  I  meet  with  many  covert  smiles. 
It  seems  I  have  returned  after  years  of 
art  study  in  New  York,  and  it  is  the  first 
time  many  of  them  have  seen  me  for  quite 
awhile.  I  am  welcomed  back  to  town  a 
slightly  boresome  but  harmless  cousin.  But 
everyone  calls  his  worst  enemy  cousin,  as  in 
a  Kentucky  village.  Young  Jim  Kopensky 
asks  in  a  cousinly  manner  why  I  start  art 
classes  here,  if  I  had  any  kind  of  prospects  in 
New  York,  rather  implying  that  I  am  here 
because  I  have  nowhere  else  to  go.  He  takes 
up  a  strain  remarkably  like  that  of  Avanel, 
and  insists  that  I  failed  with  the  great  metro 
politan  oracles  of  art  because  of  uncreased 
trousers,  and  merely  stares  with  incredulity 
when  I  insist  that  their  trousers  are  often  un 
creased,  and  some  of  them  dress  like  rag 
bags.  Despite  many  similar  greetings,  I  in 
wardly  vow  to  start  my  art  classes  anyhow, 
and  I  spend  a  morning  having  a  most  fra 
ternal  chat  with  Sparrow  Short.  He  is  re 
touching  a  portrait  of  Mara  of  Singapore, 
painted  several  years  ago  when  she  was  a 
young  girl,  and  the  political  issue  between 


76  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Singapore  and  America  was  not  so  keen. 
Short  is  determined  to  exhibit  it  at  the  August 
opening  of  The  World's  Fair  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Springfield.  In  this  picture  I  behold 
her  in  her  glory,  a  premature  creature  of  thir 
teen,  a  Singaporian  Juliet,  Short  says  "more 
hectic  in  her  aspect  than  she  is  now.  At  the 
present  she  is  an  exceedingly  cool  panther." 
The  days  Short  painted  this  portrait,  she  was 
deeply  reading  the  most  inflaming  Singapo 
rian  romance,  and  in  the  portrait  it  flashes 
recklessly  from  her,  and  her  eyes  and  mouth 
are  round  with  the  thought  of  the  loves  of 
the  lost  gods,  who  flourished  before  the  pro 
phet  of  the  Cocaine  Buddha  of  Singapore 
killed  them  all  in  the  jungle.  She  is  dressed 
in  green  silt  and  in  her  hands  is  a  great  green 
feather  fan.  Short  is  painting  out  certain 
vague  white  blossoms  on  a  bush  in  the  back 
ground  and  turning  them  to  green  buds,  for 
Mara  has  imperiously  demanded  it. 

I  am  living  near  the  studio  of  Sparrow 
Short,  in  one  of  the  old  houses  of  Springfield 
on  South  Fourth  Street  which  existed  in  my 
previous  life,  and  where  once  lived  a  dear 
friend  of  mine. 

Everything  in  the  eld  house  is  disposed  and 
ordered  as  formerly,  and  it  is  only  when  I 
step  out  on  the  front  lawn  and  pass  under 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  77 

a  certain  mulberry  tree  that  I  seem  to  be  in 
the  New  Springfield. 

I  pass  under  this  tree.  I  walk  a  little  way 
to  the  house  of  Avanel,  and  we  saunter 
abroad.  And  the  fogs  are  blowing  away  and 
she  is  in  a  most  amiable  mood,  and  I  am  able 
to  note  that  our  city  is  indeed  a  flying,  flutter 
ing  place. 

Confectioneries,  auto  trucks,  popcorn  vans, 
pleasure  machines,  and  the  passing  crowds 
are  decked  with  ribbons  and  streamers. 
Many  families  have  a  flag  pole  in  the  front 
yard  with  a  row  of  tiny  ancestral  flags,  one 
over  the  other,  each  indicating  some  form  of 
skilled  or  unskilled  manual  labor  by  which 
the  ancestors  of  the  house  made  their  way, 
and  it  is  considered  a  disgrace  to  display  any 
other  type  of  ancestral  flag,  but  one  which 
shows  some  form  of  manual  labor. 

But  many  staffs  have  only  three  flags,  that 
of  the  town,  that  of  the  International  Govern 
ment,  and  above  these,  the  Star  Spangled 
Banner.  These  people  pride  themselves  in 
being  more  democratic,  and  not  parading 
their  ancestry.  Nearly  all  business  houses, 
particularly  the  large  and  wholesale  houses, 
have  their  own  especial  banners  and  bunting, 
and  some  give  out  toy  balloons  and  the  like  to 
the  children,  marked  with  the  same  schemes. 


78  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

The  Star  Spangled  Banner  is  above  every 
thing,  even  on  the  International  buildings,  to 
indicate  that  the  United  States  has  the  old 
South  Carolina  privilege  of  secession  from 
the  World  Federation,  whenever  she  pleases. 
And  so  I  am  walking  with  Avanel,  on  the 
late  afternoon  of  March  third,  2018.  We  find 
ourselves  very  near  the  center  of  the  group 
of  slender  Sunset  Towers.  Seven  of  them  are 
of  the  seven  colors  of  the  rainbow,  one  for 
each  color,  placed  in  a  circle  around  the  Truth 
Tower,  which  is  in  the  very  center  of  the 
star-plan  system  of  boulevards.  We  climb 
the  Truth  Tower  and  look  about.  The  Truth 
Tower  is  also  called  The  Edgar  Lee  Masters 
Tower,  and  it  is  high  above  the  rest.  At  the 
foot  of  it  is  the  circular  green  with  Golden 
Rain-Trees  from  New  Harmony,  Indiana.  This 
is  called  the  Edgar  Lee  Masters  Park.  Near 
by  is  the  Lincoln  Memorial  Park,  containing 
the  marked  sites  of  Lincoln's  three  law  offices, 
and  in  the  center  our  first  State  House,  now 
the  Lincoln  museum.  On  the  sides  of  all  the 
Sunset  Towers  that  one  may  see  from  the 
old  public  square  is  spread  the  Bed  Star 
of  Springfield,  set  in  the  White  Star  of  Illi 
nois.  Searchlights  blaze  through  it,  spreading 
red  and  white  light.  Outside  the  white  Truth 
Tower  that  soars  above  all  the  city,  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  79 

outside  its  rainbow  circle  of  campaniles,  the 
ninety-two  other  campaniles  shimmer  in  the 
sun,  their  hues  ranging  from  grey  to  rose- 
grey,  and  grey-gold  to  rose-gold.  And  they 
grow  wilder  in  the  red,  black  and  white 
gorgeousness  of  the  night. 

The  fifty  towers  on  the  outermost  circle  are 
the  newest.  They  are  the  only  separate  build 
ings  of  the  World's  Fair  of  the  University  of 
Springfield,  except  one  long  street  called 
"The  Street  of  Past  History, "  which  is  about 
a  mile  to  the  south  beginning  at  Bunn  Park 
and  sweeping  toward  the  northwest  in  a 
quarter  of  a  circle  to  the  high  hill  of  Wash 
ington  Park.  Every  building  in  the  city  is 
officially  a  part  of  the  fair  and  in  theory  at 
least,  the  City  is  the  Fair. 

It  is  late  in  the  evening,  and  I  am  with 
Avanel  on  top  of  the  Truth  Tower,  and  she  is 
relenting,  not  so  much  toward  me,  as  toward 
her  town.  It  is  the  first  time  she  has  taken 
in  the  panorama,  since  the  last  circle  of  towers 
was  completed  and  The  Street  of  Past  History 
illuminated. 

"I  must  admit, "  she  says,  "the  civic  patri 
otism  of  two  most  unfashionable  persons.  Old 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  who  is 
away  now  at  the  legislature  of  the  World  Gov- 


80  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

eminent,  is  the  head  of  our  whole  architec 
tural  project.  He  is  something  of  a  Smart  Set 
person,  and  is  in  fact  an  old  West  Pointer.  But 
the  real  work  was  done  by  the  most  unpopular 
Thibetan  Boy  and  the  architectural  planning 
and  imagining  was  by  the  negro  John  Emis. 
Old  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second, 
has  lent  his  name  to  protect  these  people, 
and  leave  them  unmolested  in  their  project. 
As  it  is,  he  turns  his  appropriation  over  to 
them.  The  city  would  not  give  either  of  such 
a  salary.  It  will  give  the  Thibetan  Boy  a  little 
credit,  when  all  is  over,  but  John  Emis  none 
at  all,  because  he  is  a  negro.  When  you  go 
down  into  the  streets  again  you  will  find  a 
black  stripe  tucked  away  in  some  odd  corner 
of  the  design  of  every  building  in  The  Street 
of  Past  History.  If  you  look  you  will  see 
that  same  stripe  now,  on  the  outer  circle 
of  towers.  It  goes  slenderly  around  the  fourth 
story  and  the  tenth.  That  black  stripe  is  the 
personal  secret  signature  of  John  Emis,  the 
negro  architect." 

The  voice  of  this  woman  beside  me  alters 
to  that  gentle  and  human  tone  in  which  she 
spoke  of  her  mother,  as  though  this  city,  too, 
has  its  hand  somewhat  on  "her  heart.  Yet  she 
is  proud  and  almost  barks  at  me  when  I  at- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  81 

tempt  any  kind  of  understanding,  and  to  her 
I  am  not  of  this  city,  and  my  sole  excuse  for 
living  is  that  I  admire  her,  and  therefore  must 
be  forgiven  every  other  trait  in  my  character 
till  she  has  time  to  mend  my  ways.  My  scalp 
must  dangle  at  her  belt. 

"I  begin  to  be  almost  reconciled  to  living 
in  Springfield,"  she  muses,  " Springfield  is  all 
society,  you  know,  and  it  is  hopeless  to  try 
to  make  it  anything  else.  Of  course  there  are 
some  places  where  it  pays  to  have  ideas,  but 
here  a  girl  must  conceal  ideas  if  she  has 
them." 

Then,  in  an  instant,  another  Avanel  seems 
to  flash  forth.  "You  think  I  am  a  snob  and 
a  fool,  you  silly  art  student,  but  I  would  die 
for  the  International  Flag  far  sooner  than 
people  like  your  idol  Sparrow  Short. ' ' 

Avanel  points  out  to  me  old  Camp  Lincoln, 
northwest,  beyond  the  towers.  There  she 
leads  the  Amazonian  Cavalry  and  the  Horse 
shoe  Brotherhood  in  bi-weekly  drill,  in  prep 
aration  for  the  possible  war  against  Singa 
pore.  Looming  like  the  dome  of  the  Taj  Mahal 
above  the  trees  is  a  gigantic  world  globe, 
which  marks  the  center  of  the  field.  Around 
this  shining  map  of  everything  her  drills 
are  held. 


82  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

But  I  answer  her  cut:  "Sparrow  Short  is 
no  idol  of  mine,  and  you  know  it.  I  regard 
him  as  the  best  teacher  of  art  in  Springfield, 
but  I  do  not  accept  his  international  views. " 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  gives  reply,  "that 
you  are  always  finding  excuses  for  dubious 
revolutionaries,  whose  spirits  and  bodies  are 
rag  bags." 

About  nine  in  the  evening,  there  are  star- 
chimes  from  all  the  towers.  The  bells  are 
singing  the  song  of  Portia,  the  aviator: — 
"Look  up  at  the  far-off  suns,  Oh  hearts  of 
eternal  desire." 

Avanel  speaks  to  me  in  a  swearing  tone  of 
voice:  "I  think  I  cut  fewer  people  than  you 
do.  I  should  not  be  elected  the  head  of  the 
Amazons  if  I  were  a  fool  about  exclusiveness. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I  cut  those  who  go 
to  the  parties  of  Mara,  the  daughter  of  the 
Man  from  Singapore.  It  is  plain  she  gets 
those  people  under  her  roof  to  poison  them 
against  the  world  government  or  at  least 
muffle  their  suspicions  of  her  father's  doings 
and  the  doings  of  his  like.  You  are  the  only 
person  who  thinks  I  cut  loyal  patriotic 
people. ' ' 

I  am  wondering  why  I  like  this  Avanel.  I 
conclude  it  is  because  of  her  overwhelming 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  83 

vanity  and  unbreakable  pride.  She  has  the 
soul  of  a  thousand  peacocks  and  there  is  a 
potential  lioness  in  her  beside. 

She  clasps  her  hands  and  looks  silently  over 
the  city,  her  eyes  wide  and  leaping  with  de 
light  over  the  glory  of  the  illumination.  I  say 
to  Avanel:  "My  Fathers  have  been  long  in 
the  grave,  and  my  own  dust  has  long  been 
buried  in  other  dust.  I  walk  with  you,  only 
because  my  heart  loved  you,  one  hundred 
years  ago."  But  she  does  not  understand  me 
in  the  least,  when  I  talk  in  this  fashion. 

March  4: — It  is  such  an  established  custom 
among  the  young  people  of  2018  to  watch  the 
sunset  from  the  great  uninterrupted  glass 
spaces  of  the  upper  halls  of  these  sunset 
towers  that  there  may  be  found  the  most 
famous  cafeterias  of  the  town.  We  dine  at 
the  top  of  one  of  them.  There  with  gay  sing 
ing  the  young  democracy,  and  the  young  cocks 
of  the  walk  as  well,  linger  and  wait  till  long 
past  the  afterglow.  This  evening  the  haughty 
Avanel  consents  to  take  dinner  with  me,  that 
she  may  reprove  me  once  more,  seeing  that,  in 
general,  my  name  is  mud,  however  I  may  try 
to  improve. 

The  catalogue  of  her  hoity-toity  friends 
rolls  on  forever  and  I  can  only  protest  by  say- 


84.  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ing  that  while  these  are  undeniably  good  citi 
zens,  they  are  all  sisters,  cousins,  aunts  and 
uncles  of  those  who  are  invited  to  Mara's 
parties,  and  thus  quite  near  to  treason. 

But  now  the  town  choir  sings  the  civic 
hymn  from  a  tower  near  by: — "Springfield 
Awake,  Springfield  Aflame"  and  all  the  young 
people  about  join  in  the  chorus,  and  as  Avanel 
sings  devoutly  she  cannot  help  but  be  the 
other  self  whose  existence  she  tries  to  deny. 

March  7: — I  am  dining  again  in  the  tower 
cafeteria  with  Avanel,  a  quite  early  dinner, 
and  while  the  afterglow  still  blazes  we  look 
down  upon  the  clustered  cottages  of  our  town. 
They  are,  in  design,  dominated  by  the  so- 
called  "Violet  Curve, "  a  complex  rhythm, 
which  is  magnified  from  the  whorls  of  the 
violet  petals,  and  the  cottages  are  generally 
violet  in  hue.  Some  of  the  roofs  and  cupolas 
are  beginning  to  be  gilded.  Springfield  ex 
tends  over  the  whole  county  through  the  tak 
ing  in  of  countless  groves,  orchards,  and 
aviation  fields. 

Not  only  in  their  special  groves,  but  every 
where  titan  Amaranth  Apple  vines  rise  on 
trellises  high  above  the  other  trees,  for  this 
famous  Amaranth  is  a  kind  of  a  tree-vine 
that  is  in  the  fall  thick  with  red  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  85 

white  blossoms  and  clusters  of  red  apples. 
There  are  many  parks  in  the  New  Springfield 
that  were  not  in  the  old  Springfield:  Rankin, 
Sandburg,  Humphrey,  Roberts,  Joyce  Kilmer, 
Masters,  Untermeyer,  and  others.  Avanel 
points  out  the  public  schools  beneath  us,  often 
rebuilt  on  the  old  sites  or  near  them,  and  bear 
ing  the  same  names.  Ancient  streets  keep 
their  names,  except  where  boulevards  have 
replaced  them. 

East  of  Tenth  Street  is  the  Negro  district, 
all  new,  beautiful,  flamboyant  jungle  houses, 
constructed  for  his  people  by  John  Emis,  and 
through  his  influence  not  one  slack  old  build 
ing  remains,  though,  "most  of  them  still  hold 
slack  colored  people, "  Avanel  says.  These 
houses  are  far  richer  than  the  towers  and 
other  buildings  of  the  World's  Fair,  for  only 
here  in  Africa  has  John  Emis  an  unrestrained 
hand. 

March  8: — Avanel,  with  a  view  to  my 
further  chastisement,  takes  me  about,  scold 
ing  again,  and  we  encounter  a  row  of  gro 
tesques  on  great  pedestals,  which  she  confes 
ses  were  put  up  by  a  group  of  young  Boones 
who  came  from  near  Cairo,  led  by  her  father 
in  his  more  fiery  youth,  when  the  Boones  had 
by  no  means  so  strong  a  hold  on  the  city. 


86  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

They  are  in  Liberty  Park,  near  Concordia 
College,  whose  golden  pinnacles  glitter 
through  the  bare  limbs  of  the  trees.  On 
the  central  pedestal  of  the  grotesques  is  in 
scribed:  "To  the  cornerstones  of  the  town; 
to  the  newspaper  and  motion  picture  and 
stage  censors;  to  the  respectables,  the  lady 
bountif uls,  the  so-called  senior  families ;  to  the 
Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  American  Revo 
lution;  to  the  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  An 
cient  Democrats,  and  the  Sons  and  Daughters 
of  the  Ancient  Republicans;  and  in  general, 
to  the  dragon-quack  worm  of  respectability, 
that  dieth  not."  Avanel  says  these  were  put 
up  the  day  the  "Boone  Ax"  newspaper  was 
founded. 

On  the  central  pedestal,  which  is  higher  and 
more  massive  than  the  rest,  crawling  down 
from  the  top,  is  a  dragon  with  a  duck 's  head. 
On  the  top  of  the  other  pedestals  are  the  stone 
images  of  a  fretful  ape,  an  enormous  frog,  a 
long  nosed  ant  eater,  a  laughing  idiot,  a  hawk, 
a  goat,  a  three-legged  bull  dog  wearing  a  plug 
hat,  a  chicken  without  feathers,  and  a  hog 
wearing  trousers. 

I  say,  on  looking  at  these:  "Avanel,  I  de 
sire  to  meet  your  father,  the  honorable  Black 
Hawk  Boone,  I  darkly  suspect  he  is  one  of 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  87 

those  who  go  about  in  impressed  clothes 
and  will  doubtless  furnish  me  with  words  to 
say  to  you.  I  should  say  that  the  daughter 
of  such  a  father  should  be  willing  to  dye  her 
left  hand  crimson,  for  him,  proudly. " 

Avanel  answers  with  a  tearful  solemnity, 
positively  babyish: — "If  you  truly  love  me 
you  will  not  use  my  father  against  me.  While 
I  respect  him,  I  cannot  respect  all  his  clan  and 
ideas  and  I  am  even  more  vexed  over  his  way 
of  mixing  with  mussy  people.  If  I  must  have 
that  kind  of  thing,  I  go  to  the  saint  who  does 
it  for  religion  and  not  from  philosophy.  I 
want  you  to  meet  St.  Friend. " 

March  10 : — Late  this  evening  I  buy  a  sack 
of  popcorn  and  walk  about  the  shopping  dis 
trict  alone,  eating  the  well-buttered  corn  from 
my  pocket,  and  swinging  my  cane,  and  ob 
serving  the  beauty  of  the  ladies  as  they  go 
into  the  theatre  with  their  escorts.  Many  of 
them  remind  me  of  girls  I  used  to  eye  with 
breathless  reverence  in  Springfield.  I  am  glad 
to  wonder  over  beauty  without  being  vexed 
with  it,  and  I  stand  in  the  shadow,  inwardly 
defying  Miss  Avanel.  And  having  defied  her 
about  an  hour,  I  call  at  nine  o'clock,  feeling 
perfectly  emancipated,  and  tell  her  the  follow 
ing  story: — 


88  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

"Avanel,  last  night  we  went  abroad  into 
Dreamland  together,  hand  in  hand  and  heart 
in  heart,  looking  with  equal  guilt  for  the 
Golden  Pool  of  the  Handsome  Medicine  Man, 
Devil's  Gold.  It  was  way  past  midnight  when 
we  found  him,  in  the  midst  of  the  black 
prairies  of  Dreamland  I  well  know.  He 
was  making  his  medicine,  and  dishonor 
ing  our  souls,  by  calling  our  names  across  the 
plain.  We  did  not  flinch.  We  walked  straight 
to  his  yellow  campfire,  and  looked  into  his 
gilded  face  and  admired  his  yellow  blanket, 
and  right  by  his  fire  we  satisfied  our  wicked 
desire  by  admiring  ourselves  in  his  golden 
pool. 

"Our  faces  were  close  together,  and  as  we 
looked  into  the  pool,  we  saw  ourselves  in  a 
mundane  world,  so  perfect  that  its  material 
ism  became  magical. 

"We  walked  down  through  the  pool,  as 
though  into  an  underground  house,  and  we 
looked  into  each  others  faces  again.  And  we 
were  moving,  gilded  images  from  head  to  feet, 
and  we  were  satisfied  with  each  other  at  last, 
and  I  knew  I  wanted  you  to  be  gilded  as 
much  as  you  desired  me  to  be  so,  and  we  took 
the  wickedest  pleasure  in  looking  upon  the 
yellow  world  around  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Avanel,  "I  walked  there  with 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  89 

you  in  my  dream  last  night,  and  I  hope  we 
will  walk  in  houses  of  holiness  together  and 
I  am  sorry  we  walked  in  the  pool  of  gold. 
Come  with  me  to  St.  Friend. "  After  that, 
Avanel  is  more  of  a  Christian. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TWO  FACTIONS :— MAYOR  SLICK  SLACK  KOPENSKY 

AND    HIS    BOSS,  MAYO    SIMS;   VERSUS    BOONB, 

PRESIDENT  OF  THE  BOARD  OF 

EDUCATION. 

April  3,  2018 : — It  is  a  sunny  April  morning. 
I  note  some  tiny  spring  beauties  in  the  patches 
of  snow.  Every  cloud  threatens,  but  every 
cloud  rolls  by.  I  begin  to  apprehend  April's 
pretty  promise  of  final  deliverance  from  frost 
and  snow.  I  am  loafing  around  the  coffee 
houses,  listening  to  the  talk,  and  being  re 
ceived  as  one  of  the  more  obscure  inhabitants. 
Occasionally  some  one  asks,  with  an  effort  at 
interest,  if  I  am  starting  my  art  classes  soon. 
But  the  most  lofty  and  the  most  humble  call 
me  "cousin,"  as  they  do  one  another.  I  am 
sounded  a  bit  as  to  whether  I  share  the  polit 
ical  opinions  of  Sparrow  Short,  and  inci 
dentally  if  we  belong  to  the  same  school  of 
art  teaching,  and  if  he  will  give  my  classes  a 
criticism  from  time  to  time.  I  write  down  the 
name  of  the  youth  who  seeks  me  out  desiring 
to  enroll  and  am  for  the  first  time  flattered. 

By  putting  fugitive  bits  of  loud  talk  with 

90 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  91 

observations  of  the  last  few  mornings,  I  begin 
to  get  the  social  fabric,  and  take  a  lesson  in 
New  Springfield's  politics. 

More  women  vote  than  men.  Woman  is 
the  housekeeper  and  municipal  politics  is  a 
kind  of  nest  building  and  a  house  keeping  of 
a  sort. 

The  women  follow  their  old  occupations. 
And  they  have  many  new  ones.  They  are  lock 
smiths,  safe  experts,  confectioners,  cigar  fac 
tory  workers  and  owners,  makers  of  adver 
tising  novelties  for  the  whole  world,  eye,  ear, 
nose  and  throat  physicians,  bill  posters,  wall 
paper  cleaners,  opticians,  dog,  cat,  and  bird 
doctors,  barbers,  undertakers,  auctioneers, 
dentists,  and  a  thousand  other  things.  But 
this  does  not  mean  that  women  monopolize 
such  occupations.  It  is  only  a  minority  that 
leaves  the  home.  But  it  is  a  majority  that 
floods  the  elections.  They  are  about  equally 
divided  between  the  established  factions 
among  the  men  and  perhaps  getting  the  mass 
of  their  opinions  from  the  men  but  certainly 
furnishing  their  own  steam. 

I  note  many  curious  phases  of  caste,  if 
there  may  be  said  to  be  such  in  a  fluent  com 
munity  where  everyone  may  change  his  status 
before  nightfall  by  doughty  deed  or,  awful 


92  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

failure.  There  is  an  exalted  status  to  occupa 
tions  that  were  once  deemed  commonplace. 
There  is  yet  the  same  distinction  that  used  to 
go  to  lawyer  or  doctor  or  head  of  a  uni 
versity  department,  but  it  is  extended  to  such 
seemingly  miscellaneous  occupations  as  con 
ductors  of  Turkish  baths,  special  gymnasiums 
and  mud  baths,  billiard  halls,  bowling  alleys. 
Stores  for  sporting  and  athletic  goods  con 
vey  great  distinction.  And  the  demi-god  of 
these,  Cave  Man  Thomas,  is  indeed  held  in 
high  regard  and  his  minions  have  almost  the 
same  lustre,  and  so  he  is  one  of  the  eleven 
city  commissioners. 

But  the  end  of  these  surprises  is  not  com 
plete.  There  is  a  particular  dignity  given  to 
junk  dealers,  cobblers,  garbage  handlers,  and 
manufacturers,  and  devisers  of  patent  medi 
cines.  They  stand  as  did  the  lords,  dukes, 
knights,  and  bishops  of  old,  if  there  is  a  charm 
to  their  private  characters  equal  to  that  of 
their  public  service. 

I  find  that  a  special  training,  and  therefore 
a  special  distinction,  is  involved  in  being 
shoddy  manufacturers,  pawnbrokers,  silo 
manufacturers.  And  many  other  once  simple 
ways  of  making  a  living  have  become  so  com 
plex  and  fastidious  that  they  are  the  signs  of 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  93 

nobility.  But  respectability,  in  man  or 
woman,  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  not  always  a 
thing  of  occupation  in  the  final  analysis.  It 
may  be  a  matter  of  race  or  of  personal  record. 
And  sometimes  it  seems  to  be  a  matter  of 
party  politics. 

The  really  significant  party  lines  are  local. 
The  Democratic  and  Republican  parties  have 
their  turn  every  four  years  at  national  elec 
tions  but  at  all  other  seasons  new  ideas  come 
into  the  local  commissioners,  platforms  that 
cannot  be  classed  as  Democratic  or  Republi 
can  ideas  and  the  people  do  not  array  them 
selves  under  those  banners  but  rather  the  ban 
ners  of  Doctor  Mayo  Sims  on  the  one  hand 
and  Black  Hawk  Boone  on  the  other. 

New  Harmony,  Indiana,  is  particularly  dis 
tinguished  for  sending  in  civic  and  social  re 
cruits  to  Boone 's  faction,  though  the  neu- 
cleus  of  the  faction  came  up  with  him  from 
Cairo.  While  New  Harmony  was  founded  by 
those  who  protested  against  mystical  religion, 
many  of  the  present  waves  of  enthusiasm 
from  that  exceedingly  vital  place  were  born 
in  the  New  Harmony  Methodist  and  Epis 
copal  churches.  They  take  to  Boone  by  af 
finity,  and  hate  Mayo  Sims  by  instinct. 

With  no  particular  support  from  Boone, 
they  have  cultivated  the  mania  for  planting 


94  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

the  highly  specialized  ever-blooming  Golden 
Eain  Trees  from  New  Harmony  as  symbols 
of  democratic  feeling  and  as  a  way  of  saying 
that  all  men  are  created  equal.  And  they  call 
them  The  Gate  Trees,  since,  passing  under 
them,  we  enter  the  gate  to  the  free  land  of 
democracy  in  symbol  if  not  in  fact.  The  hor 
ticulturists  from  New  Harmony  are  making 
newer  and  more  magnificent  varieties  of  the 
tree  and  sending  them  across  the  world. 

But  in  the  Mystic  Year,  Springfield  is 
rather  to  be  discussed,  for  instance — as  a  con 
vention  center,  which  has  at  last  evolved  into 
the  home  of  a  perpetual  World's  Fair.  It  is 
as  of  old,  a  travelling  man 's  home  city,  a 
retired  farmer's  place  of  sleep,  a  state  of 
ficial's  paradise.  Agricultural  experts,  coal 
mining  experts,  would-be  statesmen  of  the 
middle  west,  have  the  same  general  relation 
to  the  city  about  them  that  they  had  in  the 
ancient  days  of  the  horse-cars,  and  the  Sanga- 
mon  County  Fair.  The  town  has  many  of  its 
ancient  types.  But  they  are  overshadowed  by 
the  sculptors,  the  motion  picture  scenario 
writers,  the  motion  picture  directors  and 
actors,  and  the  prophets  and  sibyls  of  all 
the  arts  that  go  to  make  up  a  University 
Fair.  The  entrance  examination  for  perma 
nent  .residence  in  Springfield,  except  for  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  95 

native-born,  is  the  same  as  that  for  the  Uni 
versities  of  America.  The  native-born,  no 
matter  how  stupid  or  cranky,  cannot  be  ban 
ished.  There  are  so  many  extreme  followers 
of  the  various  local  religious  and  philosophi 
cal  sects  that  Springfield  is  as  much  a  Hobby 
Horse  Fair  as  University  Fair,  if  we  are  to 
believe  the  wits  and  the  laughing  poets. 

One  index  of  the  hobby  riding  character  of 
the  place  is  the  way  the  humorous  columnist, 
Romanoff,  in  the  Boone  Ax  characterizes  con 
spicuous  people,  even  at  the  risk  of  suit.  To 
day  's  Boone  Ax  contains  a  new  epithet:  "The 
Muttering  Thibetan, "  a  name  for  the  young 
architect  and  protege  of  St.  Friend,  the 
Bread  Giver.  This  youth  makes  his  acquaint 
ances  impatient  by  talking  to  the  empty  air 
as  lie  walks  the  streets. 

The  columnist  names  himself:  "The  Senti 
mental  Bomanoff."  He  it  is  who  named  John 
Short,  political  rebel  and  painting  teacher: 
"Sparrow  Short. "  He  perpetually  hounds  the 
mayor  with  the  nicknames:  "Slick  Slack 
Kopensky ' '  and  < '  Sims '  Bitters. ' '  This  last  is 
because  Mayo  Sims  is  deemed  the  boss  and 
"Kopensky  his  dose  to  be  administered  to  the 
town  in  regular  spoonsful. 

The  deathless  industrial  revolution  that 
followed  the  war  with  Germany  still  rumbles 


96  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

along  elsewhere,  with  strikes,  boycotting, 
blacklistings,  picketings,  street  barricades, 
dynamitings,  massacres,  and  general  annoy 
ances  and  bedevilment : — advancing,  retreat 
ing,  and  advancing  again,  through  three  gen 
erations  and  around  the  world. 

But,  for  the  most  part,  the  soreheads  out 
side  of  Springfield,  particularly  those  stewing 
in  their  own  caldrons  in  Chicago,  serve  vi 
cariously  to  set  us  free.  We  are  wrestling 
with  more  up-to-date  nuisances,  with  a 
brighter  goal  in  sight. 

It  is  the  dream  of  a  human  beehive  far  from 
the  Marxian  society.  It  is  something  on  the 
newest  New  Harmony  model,  a  Springfield 
that  is  democratic,  artistic,  religious,  and 
patriarchal,  and  therefore  following  many  of 
the  most  ancient  forms  and  metaphors  of 
orthodoxy,  as  an  electric  light  may  be  soft 
ened  and  given  its  final  character  by  the  shell 
of  an  ancient  horn  lantern. 

April  7 :  —  This  evening  I  take  Avanel 
Boone  to  the  Henry  George  dinner.  When  I 
see  that  long  array  of  distinguished  citizens 
and  Avanel  names  off  to  me  their  offices  and 
attributes,  I  realize  that  Henry  George  tri 
umphs  in  an  especial  manner  over  the  soul  of 
Springfield,  and  I  rejoice  in  this  with  all  my 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  97 

heart,  for  I  deeply  revere  the  man  and  glory 
in,  his  influence.  Avanel  first  points  out  to  me 
the  followers  of  her  saints : — St.  Scribe  of  the 
Shrines,  who  has  only  recently  departed  this 
world,  and  St.  Friend,  The  Bread  Giver,  who 
is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Springfield  Cathedral, 
active  and  wonderful.  And  here  are  some  of 
the  principal  followers  of  this  dynasty  of 
saints: — the  pious  Darsies,  the  wholesome 
Hollys,  the  sad  Eancies,  torch  bearers  of  lib 
eralism.  Among  them  are  endless  officers  and 
privates  in  the  ranks  of  the  Amazonian  and 
the  Horseshoe  Brotherhood,  all  religious  and 
political  radicals.  Avanel  is  much  amused  to 
point  out  at  the  dinner  an  equal  number  of 
opposites,  though  often  of  the  same  nominal 
allegiances,  the  snobbish  Rues,  the  wire- 
haired  Eadleys,  the  iron-ribbed  Standings, 
and  some  of  the  less  powerful  of  the  mayor's 
faction,  some  young  Kopenskys,  Rocks,  and 
the  like,  who  have  no  more  to  do  with  the 
spirit  of  Henry  George  than  they  have  to  do 
with  the  New  Testament. 

My  dear  Avanel  grows  more  sarcastic  and 
almost  breaks  up  the  meeting  at  our  end  of 
the  table  when  Jefferson  Radley,  henchman 
and  slave  of  the  wicked  Doctor  Mayo  Sims, 
opens  the  evening  with  a  speech  in  which  he 
names  Henry  George  and  Alexander  Hamil- 


98  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ton,  in  the  same  tone  of  voice  and  with  the 
same  praise. 

And  now  I  get  my  first  sight  of  Black  Hawk 
Boone.  As  he  rises  to  speak,  my  dear  Avanel 
blushes  with  ill-repressed  pride  and  she  can 
not  keep  the  sparkle  from  her  eyes  and  the 
tension  of  embarrassment  and  love  from  her 
face  as  Black  Hawk  shakes  his  mane. 

He  is  a  short  man,  with  a  curly  big  black 
beard  such  as  Ashurbanipal  and  Nimrod  must 
have  shaken  at  their  foes.  His  cheek  is  flushed 
with  anger  and  his  midnight  eyes  give  out 
lightning  and  he  hits  the  table  till  the  dishes 
rattle  and  as  good  as  denounces  Jefferson 
Eadley  as  a  hypocrite  and  a  scoundrel.  He 
is  plainly  one  of  those  accustomed  to  having 
his  way  completely,  as  far  as  he  has  it  at  all, 
for  few  people  will  have  the  energy  to  combat 
the  wrath  he  puts  into  any  battle  or  into  such 
a  thing  as  a  pretty  after-dinner  tribute  to 
a  saint.  Boone  howls,  and  snaps  his  teeth  to 
gether.  His  terrible  sneer  would  destroy  all 
but  a  rhinoceros  or  a  seasoned  politician. 

At  length  Boone  possesses  himself  enough 
to  speak  clearly  and  with  much  economic  elo 
quence,  a  perfect  bore  to  Avanel  and  myself. 
She  is  trying  to  fascinate  me  by  allowing  me 
to  hold  two  of  her  fingers  under  the  table. 
Then  suddenly  the  banquet  ends  and  she 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  99 

goes  home  with  her  father,  looking  severely 
at  me.  And  she  kisses  her  father,  and  whis 
pers  in  his  ear — no  doubt  that  he  made  an  ex 
cellent  speech.  Boone  does  not  so  much  as 
glance  my  way  and  I  must  wait  till  another 
time  to  talk  to  him.  He  has  never  been  at 
home  when  I  have  called  on  his  daughter. 

April  10: — The  city  hall  is  apparently  less 
rigid  than  of  old,  a  masterpiece  of  the  hap 
py-go-lucky.  Mayor  Slick  Slack  Kopensky, 
"Sims'  Bitters,"  is  sitting  next  to  me  at  a 
coffee  house  table  with  Sims  and  Kusuko 
and  Cave  Man  Thomas,  all  parts  of  the  City 
Hall  machine.  Kopensky  looks  like  the  pic 
tures  of  President  William  McKinley.  While 
by  no  means  so  large  a  character,  he  is,  by 
all  reports,  much  more  picturesque  in  his  po 
litical  methods.  He  is  even  now  saying  to  his 
coterie  and  with  intent  that  those  near  by  may 
hear  if  they  so  desire:  "All  the  governments 
above  that  of  the  city  weigh  on  the  people 
like  a  hat  of  lead.  But  the  government  of  our 
City  Hall,  as  long  as  I  have  my  way,  is  going 
to  be  as  gay  and  easy  as  safety  will  allow. 
As  long  as  the  Public  School  bunch  act  like  a 
bunch  of  regulators  and  hoot-owls,  we  will 
beat  them  to  pulp." 

April  12: — Now  I  note  certain  established 


100  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

and  accredited  loafers,  who  are  assumed  to  be 
part  of  the  landscape.  I  find  that  the  gang  of 
Kopensky,  Sims,  and  so  forth  have  not  failed 
to  annex  every  one  of  such,  who  can  tell  a 
smutty  story  to  some  jolly  group  of  porno- 
graphically  inclined  gentlemen.  Mayo  Sims 
believes  in  the  medicine  of  laughter  to  cure 
the  sickness  of  a  political  machine,  and  with 
Kopensky 's  help  has  made  it  appear  on  the 
surface  that  the  issue  is  between  the  laughing 
City  Hall  and  the  militant  and  irksome  Uni 
versity.  So  I  get  a  public-school  map  of  the 
city  from  the  Board  of  Education  offices  and 
hire  a  taxi  and  make  a  quick  still  hunt  around 
all  the  old  and  new  sites.  Judging  by  the 
equipment  alone,  I  conclude  at  once  that  the 
public  schools  of  Springfield  have  gone  on 
like  a  line  of  irresistible  battle-tanks.  There 
is  a  complete  material  ladder  from  the  first 
grade,  on  through  the  awards  and  honors  of 
The  University  World's  Fair  that  sets  itself 
in  rigid  competition  with  the  masters  of  the 
world.  But  there  are,  no  doubt,  many  qualifi 
cations  to  this  outline  to  be  offered  by  friends 
and  enemies  of  the  system.  It  is  plain  in  one 
taxi  ride  that  the  system  has  commanded 
rivers  of  ungrudged  money  and  I  can  well  be 
lieve  that  outside  the  political  field  the  system 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  101 

has  had  an  unbroken  and  unchallenged  pres 
tige. 

In  the  coffee  houses  and  the  gigantic 
loafing  lobbies  of  the  motion-picture  thea 
tres  and  over  the  endless  ice  cream  tables  of 
the  drug  stores  and  confectioneries  and  in  the 
lounging  rooms  of  the  dance-halls  everywhere 
the  argument  roars  and  rattles  and  clatters 
and  squeals  and  shrieks  and  splutters  and 
swears.  Every  kind  of  a  skirmish  between 
Catholic  and  Protestant,  aristocrat  and  demo 
crat,  labor  and  capital,  is  obliterated  or 
merged  into  this  main  war.  Springfield  is 
Black  Hawk  Boone,  President  of  the  Board 
of  Education  and  the  World's  Fair  of  the 
University  of  Springfield  and  editor  of  the 
relentless  Boone  Ax: — versus  this  gang 
composed  of  Mayor  Kopensky,  Sims,  his  boss, 
and  the  laughing,  dancing  crew  led  by  Drug 
Store  Smith  and  Coffee  Kusuko  and  Cave 
Man  Thomas. 

Practically  all  the  religious  leaders  and  all 
the  people  with  names  of  real  distinction  and 
untainted  standing  are  with  Black  Hawk 
Boone.  His  School  Board  includes  among 
others  Eabbi  Terence  Ezekiel,  Eoxana  Grey, 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third,  son  of 
the  Senator  who  represents  us  in  the  World 
Government,  St.  Friend,  the  Bread  Giver, 


102  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Rachel  Madison,  the  Christian  Science 
Beader,  Mary  Timmons  and  John  Emis,  rep 
resentatives  of  the  African  Race,  Gwendolyn 
Charles,  the  Motion  Picture  Director  and 
scenario  writer,  Patricia  Anthony,  Josephine 
Windom  of  the  Three  Color  Printing  Depart 
ment.  They  are  a  dithyrambic,  chanting  im 
provising  howling-dervish  set,  with  a  local 
millenial  dialect  of  their  own  and  lacking 
mainly  in  that  sense  of  humor  and  everyday- 
ness  and  that  cold  political  self-control  with 
which  the  City  Hall  is  fully  supplied. 


CHAPTER  VH 

FURTHER  DISCUSSION  OF  THE  POLITICAL  MACHINERY, 

INCLUDING    THE    CITY   HALL    DRAG    NET    OF    DRUG 

STORES,    COFFEE    HOUSES    AND    DANCE    HALLS. 

April  11,  2018: — Mayor  Kopensky  is  partic 
ularly  deep  in  Singapore  learning.  He  con 
ceals  his  well-beloved  studies  in  public,  as 
senators  of  old  used  to  conceal  their  wealth. 
He  must,  of  course,  get  his  majorities  from 
the  University  students,  who  are  the  majority 
of  the  population,  so  many  are  studying  even 
after  marriage,  and  so  many  men  continue 
their  studies  after  entering  business. 

In  political  hours  the  attitude  even  of  the 
older  students  of  the  University  of  Spring 
field  is  seemingly  ungrateful.  It  is  that  of  the 
traditionally  impudent  college  freshman 
toward  the  imaginary  greasy  grind  and 
toward  the  professor  who  eggs  him  on  to 
scholarship.  They  think  the  names  of  these 
City  Commissioners:  "Cave  Man  Thomas/' 
"Sparrow  Short, "  "Coffee  Kusuko,"  "Mon 
tague  Rock,"  "Drug  Store  Smith,"  "Jeffer 
son  Radley,"  "Mayo  Sims,"  mean  dash  and 
romance. 

103 


104  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

This  is  the  "City  Hall"  block  of  seven 
people  in  the  city  commission  of  eleven.  The 
Mayor  is  the  eighth.  He  seldom  has  occasion 
to  use  his  prerogative  of  the  casting  vote,  for 
it  is  not  often  five  to  five  on  a  side.  There 
are  only  three  people  in  the  commission  who 
represent  the  School  Board,  one  of  them  is 
Black  Hawk  Boone. 

Boone  roars  away  with  the  others,  who 
are  on  his  right  and  left,  like  Aaron  and  Hur 
holding  up  the  hands  of  Moses.  And  it  is  only 
at  the  end  of  some  long  and  well  dramatized 
skirmish  that  Boone  wins  by  forcing  the  is 
sues  in  his  paper  the  Boone  Ax  and  scaring  a 
more  cowardly  four  in  Kopensky 's  faction  to 
vote  with  him  temporarily  on  what  seems  a 
purely  educational  issue.  It  is  not  always  the 
same  four  he  bulldozes  and  many  and  obvious 
are  his  plots. 

Drug  Store  Smith  and  Coffee  Kusuko  sup 
ply  about  one-fifth  of  cold  science  to  the 
Mayor's  City  Hall  stew.  They  represent  the 
1  i slick"  side  of  Kopensky.  They  have  natty 
ideas  of  dress  and  natty  ideas  of  administra 
tion.  The  remainde  of  Kopensky 's  routine 
political  workers  are  slack  in  every  way  ex 
cept  in  the  matter  of  secret  party-discipline. 

The  columnist  Komanoff  in  a  charitable 
mood  says,  in  the  Boone  Ax  for  April  11, 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  105 

2018: — "When  we  view  the  soggy-souled  but 
amiable  group  of  city  fathers  around  Kopen- 
sky,  we  rejoice.  There  is  no  sign  of  a  com 
plete  clean-up  of  the  ages.  The  patriot  is  still 
at  home  in  the  government.  And,  as  Andrew 
Jackson  knew,  there  is  an  intrinsic  governing 
power  in  any  mass  of  humanity  linked  by 
friendship  and  under  American  skies.  Along 
with  the  City  Hall  dishonesty  there  goes  a 
certain  mercy  and  fraternity,  far  from  the 
sternness  of  the  editor  of  this  paper,  who  may 
take  my  remarks  for  what  they  are  worth,  and 
he  may  fire  me  if  he  chooses.  Let  my  boss,  the 
editor,  admit,  since  he  must,  that  the  City 
Hall  gang  keep  our  more  angular  truth-tell 
ing  moods  from  torturing  the  town  beyond 
reason.  As  it  is,  I  declare  myself  the  only 
real  jester  among  all  our  children  of  light." 
April  15: — As  I  wander  about,  I  am  glad 
that  in  my  former  life  I  was  a  member  of 
the  Anti-Saloon  League  of  Central  Illinois. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  saloon  to  be  seen. 
The  bar  room  is  as  extinct  as  the  trilobite. 
Coca-Cola  and  Bevo  have  their  new  successors 
every  day,  along  with  mysterious  elaborations 
of  coffee  and  tea,  and  spiced  drinks  from  the 
Jungles  of  South  America.  And,  of  course, 
after  a  hundred  non-alcoholic  years  the  soda 
fountains  have  tremendous  importance.  Drug 


106  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Store  Smith,  member  of  the  city  council,  is  the 
local  Soda  Fountain  King.  He  is  now  the 
owner  of  all  the  drug  stores,  including  Dodds7 
Drug  Store,  which  keeps  its  old  location  at 
Fifth  and  Monroe. 

I  have  indeed  a  curious  impression  as  I  go 
into  Dodds '  for  a  soda.  Fifth  and  Monroe  re 
minds  me  of  a  century  before.  It  is  still  the 
street-car  center  of  our  town.  There  are  as  of 
old  long  benches  in  Dodds'  where  people  are 
waiting  to  take  street  cars  and  there  are  the 
same  revolving  stools  along  the  soda  fountain 
counter  but  that  counter  is  twice  as  long  and 
there  are  tables  for  customers  now.  The  sodas 
are  as  good  as  those  wonders  Jim  Sylva  used 
to  mix,  but  no  better. 

Across  the  street  is  the  old  Coe's  Book 
Store,  owned  by  some  descendant  of  the  origi 
nal  Coe  family.  There  is,  as  of  old,  a  great 
counter  of  magazines,  some  of  them  better, 
some  of  them  rawer  than  the  old  list.  Many 
of  them  are  now  published  in  Springfield  or 
near  by.  The  majority  of  the  motion  picture 
magazines  are  full  of  simpering  photographs 
of  Los  Angeles  ladies  in  bathing  suits.  They 
are,  of  course,  delightful  to  behold  but  the 
mystery  still  remains  as  to  what  this  has  to 
do  with  the  art  of  the  motion  picture.  Of  the 
literary  magazines,  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  107 

Poetry,  a  Magazine  of  Verse,  still  survive. 
The  Atlantic  still  keeps  its  brick  red  cover 
and  its  nippy  New  England  style  and  Poetry 
still  has  Pegasus  on  the  cover  and  new  poets 
on  the  inside.  Vogue  and  Vanity  Fair  are  still 
for  sale.  I  wander  out  and  watch  the  Fifth 
and  Monroe  crowd  again.  It  is  Saturday,  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  the  automobile 
horns  are  deafening  and  the  crossing  police 
man  is  quite  busy. 

And  now  I  have  gone  to  a  good  old  slap 
stick  movie,  by  a  descendant  of  Charlie  Chap 
lin,  and  I  am  standing  again  on  the  corner  and 
it  is  half  past  ten.  Many  people  are  looking 
up  at  the  passing  figures  in  the  dance  hall  in 
the  third  story  over  the  theatre.  Windows 
are  open  and  wild  Singaporian  music  pours 
out  into  the  streets.  There  are  great  yellow 
Singaporian  lanterns  hanging  in  front  of  the 
open  windows  and  yellower  light  is  pouring 
from  the  hall  itself.  It  is  one  of  the  chain  of 
Yellow  dance  halls  in  the  syndicate  owned  by 
Kusuko  and  part  of  his  political  machine, 
along  with  his  chain  of  Coffee  houses.  This 
particular  place  is  called  "The  Hall  of  Vel- 
aska." 

There  was  a  man  who  sat  by  me  in  the 
movie  laughing  like  a  boy.  He  is  now  beside 


108  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

me  again.  He  is  a  gigantic  black  haired  but 
aged  Jew,  obviously  the  Eabbi  Terence  Eze- 
kiel,  heretic,  and  planter  of  the  Oaks  of 
Springfield.  He  is  in  most  matters  a  hench 
man  of  Boone  and  a  political  "  scrapper, " 
whose  deeds  have  set  the  town  ringing.  We 
are  friends  in  a  minute.  He  has  seen  me  with 
Avanel  in  his  synagogue — takes  me  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course,  asks  me  to  go  with  him  to  the 
Tom  Strong  Coffee  House  and  Restaurant, 
just  east  of  the  Gaiety  Theatre.  There  we  en 
counter  Boone  and  the  over-sensitive  quiver 
ing  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third. 
They  are  enjoying  eleven  o'clock  salt  mack 
erel  together.  They  take  along  with  it  the 
knockout  coffee  of  Kusuko,  who  owns  all  the 
coffee  houses  under  whatever  name,  new  or 
old. 

And  so  the  Rabbi  and  I  join  in  these  re 
freshments  and  have  a  jolly  midnight  with 
the  heart  of  political  and  educational  Spring 
field  and,  as  long  as  the  Rabbi  leads  the  argu 
ment,  there  is  more  than  enough  wit  in  the 
assembly.  He  has  the  Jewish  turn  for  puns 
and  it  is  plain  that  Doctor  Mayo  Sims  and 
Kopensky  have  a  second  laughing  f  oeman. 

But  amid  the  jokes  the  Rabbi  is  not  a  bit 
backward  about  hatching  local  empires  along 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  109 

with  this  inbred  Michael  and  this  black-haired 
descendant  of  Daniel  Boone.  Their  present 
campaign,  which  they  do  not  conceal  in  its 
tactics  from  me,  their  '  '  cousin, ' '  is,  of  course, 
an  effort  to  out-maneuver  the  Mayor.  Ko- 
pensky  wants  to  bring  cheap  unskilled  labor 
to  town,  leaving  out  the  usual  University 
entrance-examination.  His  ostensible  reason 
is  that  the  World 's  Fair  buildings  will  not  be 
completed  August  15,  the  date  of  opening, 
without  this  aid.  It  is  obviously  but  a  ma 
neuver  to  bring  more  City  Hall  votes  to  town 
and  votes  of  a  manageable  type. 

And  so  I  talk  politics  with  these  three. 
Boone  proclaims  that  the  presence  this  eve 
ning  of  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third,  is 
an  evidence  that  the  Boones  and  the  Michaels 
can  pull  together  from  time  to  time  and 
the  Eabbi  and  the  lad  seem  completely  ruled 
by  this  headlong  Boone  who  cannot  eat  mack 
erel  without  glowering  as  though  he  were  de 
vouring  his  enemies. 

The  other  two  are  jollying  him  out  of  his 
intensity  and  he  seems  to  thank  them  for  it. 
He  really  relaxes  a  little  toward  midnight,  as 
though,  after  all,  this  is  a  festive  occasion  of 
red  blooded  lads  in  a  coffee  house.  As  I 
think  it  over,  walking  home  alone,  there  is  an 


110  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

elusive  impression  that  young  Michael  was 
being  given  an  extra  show  of  confidence  for 
1 1  reasons  "  by  the  apparently  headlong  older 
gentlemen. 

April  17: — I  have  been  asking  questions 
about  Drug  Store  Smith.  It  seems  this  per 
son,  Smith,  has  aspirations,  and  values  his 
exceedingly  nominal  place  among  the  scien 
tific  chemists  of  America  and  will  leave  the 
town  any  time  to  attend  a  congress  of  such, 
where  he  receives  due  invitation: — and  it  is 
part  of  the  tactics  of  Boone  to  lure  him  out 
when  his  vote  will  be  an  inconvenience.  But  it 
is  not  always  easy  to  get  him  sufficient  honors 
of  this  kind  for  he  is  not  a  benevolent  scien 
tist.  The  charm  of  his  tonics  and  beverages  is 
deemed  specious,  though  some  of  them  are 
discreetly  marked:  "Highly  recommended  by 
Doctor  Mayo  Sims."  "They  say7'  he  did  some 
sound  chemical  and  biological  research  in  his 
youth  in  the  Springfield  University  labora 
tories. 

I  have  been  asking  questions  and  am  be 
ginning  to  understand  Coffee  Kusuko.  He 
has  a  chain  of  coffee  houses  as  long  as  Smith 's 
chain  of  pharmacy-post-office-street-car-sta 
tion  -  patent  -  medicine  -  confectionery  -  cigar- 
stand-and-soda-fountain  establishments.  Ku- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  1J1 

susko  has  made  the  black  demi-tasse  the  spe 
cial  Springfield  vice  and  there  are  no  deeper 
addicts  than  those  who  fight  him  politically; 

People  feel  quite  sure  his  drink  contains 
some  more  sinister  ingredient  from  the  Malay 
peninsula.  And  he  it  is  who  sees  to  it  that  all 
the  business  offices  are  equipped  with  coffee 
urns  that  whistle  through  the  late  afternoon: 
—the  custom  of  "mixing  business  and  coffee 
having  originated  with  his  great  great  grand 
mother,  a  famous  local  stenographer,  who  in 
the  end  became  lady  mayor,  through  her  sten 
ographers  '  guild.  Politics  and  coffee  are 
hereditary  with  Kusuko. 

In  the  legitimate  organization  which  min 
isters  to  this  drinking  habit,  Kusuko  has  con 
cealed  his  henchmen,  who  bring  him  all 
needed  information  and  carry  abroad  all  nec 
essary  orders.  And  they  have  a  considerable 
opportunity  to  serve  him.  Drinking  begins  in 
the  offices  at  4.30  P.  M.  and  in  the  more  fas 
tidious  business  groups  with  many  forms,  till 
it  is  near  to  resembling  the  Japanese  tea- 
ceremony.  Stenographers,  some  austere  and 
some  luxurious,  mingle  with  women  political 
leaders,  such  as  Orator  Carrie  Moore,  Portia, 
the  Singing  Aviator,  and  others.  These  help 
materially  to  make  up  the  sum  of  grace  and 


112  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

bedevilment  of  the  business  and  political  day. 
A  little  later  people  who  are  still  restless  and 
do  not  want  to  go  home  drift  off  toward  the 
motion  picture  houses,  or  the  drug  stores  or 
the  coffee  houses  of  Kusuko. 

As  to  the  coffee  houses,  I  make  my  tours 
through  many  and  find  these  places  extraordi 
narily  varied  in  design,  though  the  same  gen 
eral  average  of  a  crowd  is  in  most  of  them. 
There  is  a  Chinese-looking  place  called :  '  '  The 
Opium  Fish."  There  is  a  place  hung  with 
copies  of  Velasques,  Goya,  Sorolla,  and  others, 
called:  "The  Spanish  Gypsy."  This  is  a  place 
quieter  than  most.  Then  there  is  a  kind  of  a 
Jazz  emporium  with  copper  and  brass  deco 
rations,  called  "The  Whing  Whang  Tree." 
There  are  two  other  places  that  specialize  in 
chop  suey,  called:  "The  Mock  Duck"  and 
"The  Fire  Cracker  King"  and  then  I  loaf  in 
"The  Pig  and  the  Goose,"  and  "The  Sword 
of  the  Skallawag,"  etc.  In  these  last  two  on 
slightly  raised  platforms  the  Malay  story 
tellers  sit  cross-legged.  They  unroll  the  beau 
tiful  ensnaring  legends  of  the  Malay  penin 
sula  and  the  islands  around  it.  These  story 
tellers  appear  occasionally  in  some  of  the 
other  coffee  houses,  also,  along  with  negro 
singers,  etc. 

And  now  comes  Kusuko 's  last  touch,  where 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  113 

he  has  completely  replaced  the  old  political 
functions  of  the  American  saloon,  as  an  ac 
ceptable  harness  for  the  social  brigands. 
There  is  always  some  allusion  in  the  coffee 
houses,  some  implication,  that  the  next  real 
thing  to  do  will  be  dancing,  later  in  the  eve 
ning,  in  wonderful  Yellow  Dance  Halls.  These 
are  also  owned  by  Kusuko  and  are  the  very 
keystone  of  his  system.  I  follow  the  drifting 
tide  of  jolly  good  fellows  several  evenings  and 
it  leads  me  inevitably  to  the  halls  before  mid 
night. 

They  are  never  too  near  the  coffee  houses 
and  soda  fountains  and  never  too  far  away. 
There  is  nothing  on  the  surface  to  make  one 
apprehensive  in  the  halls,  except  some  very 
daring  social  dancing.  There  is  often  a  mo 
tion  picture  show  for  part  of  the  evening  just 
off  the  lounging  hallway  and  place  of  prom 
enade.  The  crowd  is  not  much  below  the  aver 
age  of  the  regular  Fifth  and  Monroe  crowd 
of  all  kinds  of  people. 

April  20: — I  attend  this  evening,  at  the  in 
vitation  of  two  prospective  art  students,  a 
session  of  the  Board  of  Education.  They  ex 
plain  the  session  to  me,  while  we  sit  in  the 
gallery  and  look  down  upon  the  general  tem- 
pestuousness. 

Boone  is  not  only  the  presiding  officer  but 


114  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

has  the  impression  that  he  is  the  whole  Board 
of  Education.  Despite  this  they  are  fond  of 
him  on  the  board,  but  row  with  him  till  the 
men  cuss  before  the  ladies  in  desperate  efforts 
to  hold  him  down,  and  keep  him  down,  and 
prevent  his  bullying  the  whole  assembly  out 
of  existence.  He  insults  everybody  mercilessly 
and  wags  his  black  beard  at  them  till  they 
quail  and  quake. 

It  is  a  joy,  a  sorrow,  an  amazement,  and  a 
wonder  to  me  to  see  people  who  look  so  much 
like  the  old  Prognosticate 's  Club,  fighting 
away,  and  when  I  meet  them  all  at  the  end 
of  the  verbal  war  none  of  them  see  me  ex 
cept  as  a  casual  bystander. 

April  21: — I  have  had  a  jolly  evening  at 
Tom  Strong  >s  with  my  beloved  Rabbi.  Boone 
is  our  inevitable  theme  in  the  end.  The  Rabbi, 
as  we  drink  the  black  coffee  and  eat  the  salt 
mackerel,  confirms  my  tentative  remark  that 
Boone,  as  president  of  the  Board  of  Education, 
enforces  its  edicts,  though  few  of  the  decrees 
are  those  into  which  from  the  standpoint  of 
strategy,  or  even  conviction,  he  can  put  his 
private  heart.  But,  the  Rabbi  points  out,  they 
are  all  clubs  with  which  Boone  can  pound  the 
Mayor's  majority  in  the  city  commission  and 
he  backs  the  board's  edicts,  every  one,  in  The 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  115 

Boone  Ax,  and  ever  so  often  forces  some 
thing  through  the  council. 

Boone  is  also  University  Professor,  one 
hour  a  week,  and  in  his  professorial  special 
pleading,  which  he  excludes  from  his  activi 
ties  as  chairman  of  the  Board  of  Education, 
he  presents  to  the  University  and  the  world  a 
new  doctrine  of  health  and  economics,  called: 
"Boonism"  by  his  followers,  and  "The  Com 
plete  Healing "  in  his  text  book. 

The  Rabbi  expounds:  "Boonism  de 
nounces  metal  money  for  a  starter.  Boone 's 
aversion  to  it  has  come  through  millionaires 
burying  their  money  and  bringing  out  coins 
one  at  a  time.  Boone  advocates  a  special  sys 
tem  of  paper  currency  for  an  economic  rem 
edy,  and  as  a  means  of  abolishing  million 
aires.  So  Kusuko  allows  only  metal  money 
to  be  used  in  his  places,  which  regulation 
Boone,  after  some  contests,  has  accepted  with 
a  sense  of  humor,  since  he  likes  black  coffee 
and  cannot  deny  it  and  wants  a  jolly  place  to 
meet  his  friends.  And  meanwhile  million 
aires,  though  forbidden  by  the  constitution 
to  exist,  keep  on  hiding  money. ' ' 

According  to  the  Kabbi:— "The  most  out 
standing  prescription  in  the  personal  health 
chapters  of  'The  Complete  Healing'  is  the 


116  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Apple  Amaranth  orchard.  The  devotee  is  to 
walk  in  the  orchards  summer  and  winter, 
breathing  the  breath  of  the  bark,  blossoms, 
apples,  and  leaves,  with  certain  well-worded 
philosophic  meditations.  In  general  Boone 
condemns  drugs,  so  there  is  a  personal  reason 
for  making  war  on  him  on  the  part  of  Smith 
and  Sims  and  their  followers. 

"The  Amaranth  Apple  orchard,  around 
the  grave  of  the  Sangamon  County  pioneer 
and  saint,  Hunter  Kelly,  is  particularly  es 
teemed  by  the  Boone  following. 

But  I  cannot  imagine  Boone  or  any  re 
motely  resembling  imitator  indulging  in  phil 
osophic  meditations.  I  could  rather  imagine 
him  climbing  a  tree  like  a  cinnamon  bear, 
only  with  more  speed  and  fidgets. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  NEW  SPRINGFIELD  FLAG  AND  THE  STAR  PLAN 

MAP  FOR  WHICH  IT  STANDS,  INCLUDING  THE 

DOUBLE  WALLS  ON  THE  FAR  BORDERS  OF  THE 

CITY,  BUILT  LONG  AGO  BY  RALPH 

ADAMS  CRAM. 

May  4,  2018: — I  make  an  early  afternoon 
call  on  Avanel.  First  we  mourn  over  the  scene 
outside,  for  Apple  Amaranths  and  all  are 
nipped  by  the  frost  and  from  all  over  the 
United  States  come  reports  that  the  peach 
crop  once  more  is  blighted.  Then  Avanel  is  in 
her  most  "  young  ladyfied"  mood  and  com 
plains  fondly  of  her  fathers  general  code  of 
behavior.  I  gather  the  impression  that  her 
ideal  has  no  big  black  beard  and  no  long  curly 
oily  locks,  no  fashion  of  getting  angry.  She 
is  just  the  age  when  they  palpitate  between 
fond  indulgence  of  "father"  and  black  fury 
at  his  goat-like  intractability  to  all  plain  sug 
gestions  that  he  make  a  change  in  himself. 
Boone  being  a  widower  and  Avanel  his  only 
child,  she  is  his  shepherdess  most  emphat 
ically. 

Meanwhile  Avanel  hand-embroiders  a  gor- 

117 


118  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

geous  Springfield  Flag  and  allows  me  to  help 
her  untangle  several  skeins  of  red  silk  and  in 
general  to  play  the  idle  dangler  as  well  as  I 
can.  I  am  quite  aware  I  do  not  do  it  in  the 
off-hand  manner  I  should.  I  am  a  little  too 
heavy  with  the  silk  but  she  admits  that  I  do 
not  roar  at  the  least  tangle,  as  her  father 
might. 

Anyway,  the  flag  is  finished.  And  just 
as  I  begin  to  get  what  might  be  called  "in 
earnest "  with  Avanel,  a  lot  of  disgusting 
young  dandies,  whose  names  I  do  not  know, 
come  in  for  tea.  And  I  am  obliged  to 
stay  and  drink  the  stuff  and  I  would  rather 
drink  rain  water  off  the  roof  of  a  soot-factory, 
that 's  what  I  would. 

May  5 : — I  have  seen  in  waking  dreams,  as 
I  walk  on  the  edge  of  New  Springfield,  at  the 
prairie  end  of  a  shadowed  deserted  street,  a 
great  open  door  into  the  deep  of  eternity 
and,  hovering  above  the  great  deep,  Spring 
field,  when  it  becomes  the  perfect  and  trans 
cendent  city.  I  look  down  upon  towers  so 
packed  together  in  a  sheaf  and  the  flags 
so  mighty,  it  seems  but  a  fantasy  of  celes 
tial  flagstaffs  and  pinnacles.  There  are  many 
flags  of  the  International  Government  and 
many  flashes  of  the  Star  Spangled  Banner. 
But  one  flag  stirs  me  the  most.  It  is  the  one 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  119 

embroidered  with,  the  very  silk  and  with  the 
very  same  stitches  I  have  seen  Avanel  put  in 
with  much  silly  chat  so  lately.  It  is  the  flag 
nearest.  It  is  on  a  tower  rising  from  the  deep, 
a  neighbor,  it  seems,  I  can  almost  touch.  But 
as  I  look  there  are  thousands  of  flags  like  it 
suddenly  unfurled  on  a  myriad  pinnacles  of 
the  city  below. 

May  6: — All  the  city  is  mourning  the 
blighting  of  the  season's  acorns  and  Ama 
ranth  Apples  and  the  buds  of  the  Golden  Rain 
Tree.  Almost  all  the  boughs  have  the  little 
blackened  tufts  of  buds  and  leaves.  Avanel 
meets  me  at  the  door  in  the  evening.  Her 
father  has  given  her  a  terrific  scolding  for 
what  she  says  is  "nothing  much"  and  she  is 
glad  to  walk  and  walk  for  miles  and  cool  off 
in  the  clear  starry  air.  I  get  it  out  of  her,  she 
has  been  trying  to  stop  her  father 's  smoking. 
But  she  is  forgetting  it  and  taking  on  her  sibyl 
mood.  Later  she  confesses  she  has  been  try 
ing  to  get  her  father  to  cut  his  hair  and 
quit  dyeing  his  left  hand  crimson  and  that 
he  has  been  trying  to  get  her  to  dye  her  hand 
and  unbind  her  hair  as  a  Boone  should.  So, 
sore  of  heart,  she  is  willing  that  we  should 
be  true  comrades  in  the  midst  of  this  universe. 
And  at  once  we  are,  as  it  were,  brothers  and 


120  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

sisters  of  the  >stars.  She  goes  so  far  as  to  take 
my  arm. 

She  agrees  to  my  proposal  that  we  pluck 
out  the  mystery  of  the  souls  of  our  city's 
flags  together,  if  two  young  creatures  may 
get  such  wisdom. 

May  7: — Avanel  this  evening  takes  me  to 
call  upon  St.  Friend,  The  Giver  of  Bread.  It 
is,  in  her  eyes,  quite  a  religious  function.  And 
we  are  to  inquire  formally  about  flags.  St. 
Friend  knows  me  not,  though  there  is  some 
thing  in  his  voice  that  goes  back  one  hundred 
years,  and  I  dimly  remember,  in  my  double 
consciousness,  visits  with  a  friend  who  had 
much  the  same  furniture,  and  some  of  the 
same  turns  of  phrase,  but  he  had  not  the  face 
or  figure  of  this  man.  We  are  by  the  open 
fireplace,  under  the  old  lithograph  of  Alex 
ander  Campbell.  Flashing  in  the  firelight,  is 
the  old  bookcase  to  the  left,  containing  the 
bound  volumes  of  the  Millenial  Harbinger 
and  Kichardson's  old  life  of  Campbell  and  all 
the  rest  of  it. 

St.  Friend,  the  Giver  of  Bread,  is  indeed  an 
old  man,  a  little  lame,  leaning  on  a  cane. 
He  is  much  over  six  feet  tall,  when  straight 
ened,  and  with  a  smooth  shaven  countenance, 
but  looking  as  Abraham  Lincoln  might  have 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  121 

done,  had  he  lived  into  another  century 
and  grown  grayer  with  no  other  sign  of  the 
passing  of  the  years.  St.  Friend,  the  Giver 
of  Bread,  receives  Avanel  as  a  favorite  daugh 
ter  and  convert  and  indeed  I  feel  in  the  air 
the  justification  for  my  estimate  of  this  girl. 
In  his  presence  she  puts  aside  all  vestige  of 
nonsense.  It  is  Church  to  her  to  be  with  him. 

St.  Friend  disgraces  himself  by  taking  the 
oldest  kind  of  a  corncob  pipe  from  a  shelf 
inside  the  fireplace  and  smoking  like  a  chim 
ney.  He  asks  Avanel  if  she  cares  and  she 
says,  "No,  certainly  not." 

We  get  to  the  matter  of  the  flags  quite  late 
in  the  evening. 

St.  Friend  tells  how  in  his  youth  when 
Apple-Amaranth  blossoms  had  as  now  a 
touch  of  red  in  the  hearts,  those  hearts  began 
to  be  called,  "The  Blood  of  Hunter  Kelly," 
and  St.  Friend  suggests  that  the  saying  be 
restored  to  its  former  place  on  the  tongues 
of  Springfield,  especially  since  the  red  and 
white  star  in  the  municipal  flag  is  copied 
from  this  flower. 

Then  much  of  what  he  and  Avanel  have 
to  say  to  each  other  about  the  flag  he  de 
clares  he  will  put  into  his  next  sermon.  It  is 
plain  to  me  that  this  gray  mind  leans  for  vi- 


122  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

tality  upon  the  mind  of  the  proud  young 
child.  She  knows  it  not  but  only  thinks  her 
self  a  kind  of  playmate  in  a  solemn  way. 

On  the  way  home  Avanel  is  much  ashamed 
of  herself  for  staying  so  long  and  says  that  I 
am  an  awkward  lummox,  and  I  can  walk 
home  my  own  way. 

Therefore  I  make  my  speech,  as  I  take  her 
sternly  to  her  door.  She  holds  herself  straight 
as  a  ramrod,  with  lips  stubbornly  pursed  to 
gether,  as  I  say: 

"Your  name  is  Springfield.  If  there  is  any 
banner  of  the  soul  flying  above  me,  your  name 
is  written  on  it  and  the  white  is  the  pride  that 
makes  you  so  angry  and  the  red  is  the 
strength  that  makes  you  an  Amazon,  and  the 
blue  of  the  flag  is  the  prairie  sky,  of  which 
you  are  the  vainest,  loveliest  daughter. " 
Avanel  goes  into  the  house  with  a  sharp 
"Goodnight." 

May  8: — It  is  a  blazing  spring  day  and 
everything  that  was  not  frosted  is  getting 
quite  green.  Baby  carriages  are  abroad,  with 
the  pink  darlings  crowing  within  them,  wel 
coming  the  sun.  The  streets  are  full  of  spring 
finery.  About  four  o'clock  on  this  jolly  after 
noon  I  meet  Rabbi  Terence  Ezekiel  in  Tom 
Strong's,  We  fill  up  on  rousing  coffee  and  I 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  123 

manage  to  get  the  conversation  around  to  the 
Springfield  flag  about  which  I  am  endlessly 
curious. 

The  Eabbi  says:— "The  star  of  red  and 
white  in  the  heart  of  the  flag,  being  the  twen 
ty-first  star  in  the  design,  indicates,  in  the 
official  interpretation,  that  Illinois  was  the 
twenty-first  state  admitted  to  the  Union  and 
the  red  part  indicates  Springfield,  the  capi 
tal."  But  Eabbi  Ezekiel  prefers  the  idea  that 
this  red  and  white  star  indicates  in  the  year 
2018  the  coming  of  age  of  Illinois  and  Amer* 
ica. 

May  10: — It  is  Sunday  morning,  and  I  am 
in  the  Great  Cathedral  of  St.  Peter  and  St. 
Paul  with  Avanel.  The  whole  picture  is  clean 
cut  around  me.  Every  word  and  whisper 
'is  clear.  There  are  no  clouds  at  all.  Yet  the 
Cathedral  is  indeed  gigantic.  I  am  reminded 
of  majestic  Notre  Dame  in  Paris.  It  is  the 
same  combination  of  styles,  and  St.  Friend  be 
gins  his  sermon  with  an  appeal  for  a  special 
fund  to  add  the  steeples.  As  in  cathedrals  of 
Europe,  only  the  rectangular  foundations  of 
the  spires,  a  little  higher  than  the  roof,  are 
in  place. 

He  preaches  the  sermon,  which  Avanel 
helped  him  build,  which  touches  on  the  flag: 


124  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

"Visitors  to  the  Fair  may  care  to  know 
the  path  of  white  around  the  red  star  of 
Springfield  is  the  map  of  our  five-pointed  sys 
tem  of  double  walls  and  within  them  a  star- 
plan  system  of  avenues.  This  system,  like  this 
star,  is  a  symbol  of  the  relation  of  Springfield 
to  all  the  outside  world.  The  top  of  the  star 
points  north  to  Chicago  by  way  of  the  outer- 
wall  gate  at  Mason  City.  Tomorrow  the  corn 
dragon  engines  begin  to  take  that  route.  They 
are  to  be  dedicated  with  honors  that  I  hope 
all  who  hear  me  will  be  there  to  endorse 
and  acclaim.  The  star-point,  indicating  north 
east,  starts  our  flying  machine  trip  over 
the  inner- wall  gate  at  Illiopolis  and  the  outer- 
wall  gate  at  Warrensburg  and  on  to  Danville, 
if  you  please,  and  to  New  York  and  the  sea 
journey  to  the  capital  of  the  International 
Government,  which  government  is  looked  to 
with  loyalty  by  all  patriots,  and  honorable 
men.  Highways  running  parallel  to  the  air 
lines  in  this  direction  are  haunted  by  mem 
ories  of  Johnny  Appleseed,  in  the  regions  of 
Fort  Wayne,  Indiana,  and  Massilon,  Ohio. 
The  roads  are  of  some  distinction  in  all  the 
fruit  and  flower  religions  of  Springfield.  Our 
city  sends  pilgrims  that  way  in  the  spring 
who  will  yet  replant  the  whole  world  in  glory 
with  many  a  sacred  grove.  But  the  southeast 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  125 

point  of  the  Springfield  star  system  is  a  road 
that  passes  through  the  inner-wall  gate  at 
Taylorville  and  the  outer  at  Pana,  and  points 
in  the  direction  of  Virginia  and  Richmond. 
Our  fruit  and  flower  devotees  take  all  roads, 
but  because  of  the  wonders  of  the  early  south 
ern  spring  many  of  them  deem  this  the 
holiest  way.  There  are  found,  more  than 
other  where,  the  botanizing  pilgrims  of  the 
faiths  of  my  friend  Rabbi  Terence  Ezekiel 
and  my  friend  Mother  Grey  and  her  daughter 
Roxana.  There  many  of  the  Rabbi's  young 
oaks  have  sprung  up  in  the  name  of  universal 
righteousness  and  that  way  he  still  takes  his 
pilgrimage,  according  to  the  mystical  doc 
trine  of  the  Oak  which  is  the  foundation  of 
our  Rabbi's  dreams.  This  road  goes  through 
New  Harmony,  Indiana,  before  it  turns  south 
into  Kentucky.  Many  pilgrims  pass  that  way 
to  do  honor  to  the  original  home  of  the  Golden 
Rain  Tree  of  Democracy. 

"The  point  in  the  star-plan  system  of  boule 
vards  that  becomes  a  road  passing  through 
the  inner-wall  gate  at  Modesta  and  the  outer 
at  Palmyra  starts  the  fancy  moving  along  a 
certain  classic  flying-machine  route  over  Al 
ton  and  St.  Louis,  southwest  to  the  tremend 
ous  motion-picture  studios  of  the  Los  Angeles 


126  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

region  and  the  radical  educational  institu 
tions  evolved  from  them,  which  are  so  great 
a  peril  to  the  land.  This  air  route  I  call  'The 
Path  of  111  Learning/  It  is  constantly  trav 
elled  by  our  motion-picture  educators  and 
artists  who  go  to  exchange  ideas  and  refresh 
themselves  at  Los  Angeles,  that  great  seat  of 
spiritual  lies." 

At  this  point  Avanel  frowns  indeed  she 
will  not  be  bullied  out  of  her  movies.  But 
she  grows  grave  again  and  she  takes  earn 
estly  what  else  he  has  to  say: 

"The  star-point  indicating  northwest  with 
the  inner  gate  at  Ashland  and  the  outer  at 
Virginia  is  the  one  that  interests  me  most. 
There  are  three  orders  of  discipline  in  connec 
tion  with  this  Cathedral.  The  newest  is  the 
Order  of  the  Blessed  Bread  of  the  More  Lib 
eral  Observance,  in  whose  name  we  are  to 
have  the  great  bread  distribution  on  June 
the  eighth.  The  one  a  little  older  is  The  Order 
of  the  Blessed  Bread  of  the  Strict  Observance, 
a  discipline  for  those  lost  in  despair  and  de 
termined  to  seize  one  more  hope,  if  there  be 
one,  before  they  consent  to  die. 

"But  the  oldest  order,  the  darling  of  the 
founder  of  the  greater  work  of  this  Cathedral, 
is  the  order  of  the  Pilgrimage,  founded  here 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  127 

seventy-five  years  ago  by  St.  Scribe  of  the 
Shrines,  now  gone  to  his  reward.  And  the 
road  northwest,  as  all  but  strangers  in  the 
city  know,  leads  from  the  first  shrine,  which 
is  the  tomb  of  Lincoln,  through  the  gates  at 
Ashland  and  Virginia,  straight  north  to  Ha 
vana  and  the  classic  land  of  Spoon  River  and 
Lewiston,  to  North  Dakota  and  the  coast,  and 
so  on  around  the  world  to  the  hundred  shrines. 
How  many  young  pilgrims  have  turned  back 
before  they  reached  the  outer  gate  at  Vir 
ginia,  held  more  by  soul's  weakness  than  by 
bodily  weariness,  within  the  double  walls 
built  so  long  ago  by  Ealph  Adams  Cram!  But 
some  here  present  today  have  continued  the 
not  too  difficult  journey  and  have  returned  to 
live  within  these  double  walls  again  and 
adore  the  Host  upon  this  altar. 

They  have  taken  the  ocean  ships  or  air 
ships  of  Seattle,  they  have  gone  afoot  and  by 
every  known  vehicle  through  Asia.  It  is  a 
journey  unforgettable — to  the  holy  land  of 
Confucius  and  to  his  holy  grave,  to  the 
Blessed  Bohdi  Tree  of  Buddha,  to  the  bathing 
places  of  Benares,  to  the  holy  places  of  Mecca, 
Jerusalem,  Assisi,  Rome,  Lourdes,  and  Lon 
don.  I,  too,  in  my  youth,  with  a  fiery  young 
company  from  Springfield  made  this  pil- 


128  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

gr image  which  was  first  undertaken  by  St. 
Scribe  and  written  down  later  in  his  little 
book  of  Discipline  called:  "The  Hundred 
Shrines.'  "We  went  by  motor,  by  steamship, 
by  flying  machine,  but  whenever  possible, 
afoot.  Let  the  visitor  in  this  audience  note 
that  he  who  prays  at  these  shrines,  according 
to  the  office  of  The  Brotherhood  of  The  Hun 
dred  Shrines,  has  made,  we  think,  the  true 
beginning  of  life  for  a  modern  soul. 

"Every  shrine  is  a  modern  Station  of  the 
Cross.  Between  shrine  and  shrine,  await 
many  desperate  foes  of  the  soul.  And  so 
have  often  called  it  *  The  Road  to  Heaven  and 
Hell.'  There  is  no  nominal  way  to  take  this 
discipline.  He  who  is  a  little  hurt  by  this  dis 
cipline  is  destroyed." 

May  11: — Avanel  and  I  are  taking  lunch 
together  at  the  Fire  Cracker  King  Restau 
rant  and  Coffee  House.  She  is,  indeed,  giving 
absent  father  a  scolding.  It  seems  that  Black 
Hawk  Boone  has  presumed  to  "offer  advice." 
And  she  "hates  him."  I  venture  to  inquire 
wherein  he  has  been  so  presumptuous  as  to 
attempt  to  guide  her  wandering  feet.  And  it 
seems  that  he  thinks  she  is  too  fond  of  long 
rehearsals  for  the  celebration  of  the  festival 
of  St.  Scribe,  May  fifteenth  in  the  Gordon 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  129 

Craig  Theatre,  and  not  enough  devoted  to  the 
Amazonian   drill   ground.    He   wants   three 
drills  a  week,  not  two.  He  says  we  may  be  at 
war  with  Singapore  any  day  and  she  cannot 
dance  to  victory  and  had  best  quit  religious 
dancing,  till  after  the  war.  My  reply  is  quite 
deft.  I  insist  that  I,  at  least,  am  prepared  to 
appreciate  her  dancing  and  am  only  waiting 
the  next  appearance  at  the   Gordon  Craig 
Theatre  and  she  continues  to  scowl  but  says  I 
have  but  till  the  fifteenth  to  wait.  It  is  now 
about  two  in  the  afternoon  and  we  are  going 
to  hear  some  speeches.  Avanel  explains  to  me 
that  the  first  Corn  Dragon  Engines  are  start 
ing,  with  great  ceremony,  to  Chicago  and  we 
are  to  hear  orations  at  the  station  before  they 
go.    The  transportation  district  centering  in 
Illinois  has,  through  Eric  Hedder,  a  plough- 
boy  from  near  Cairo,  evolved  a  type  of  a  dra 
gon  engine,  a  mate  to  the  dragon-fly  flying 
machine.    A  complete  set  of  these  engines 
have  just  been  finished  for  the  Springfield  and 
Chicago  division.    They  are  equipped  with 
silvery  horns  instead  of  shrill  whistles.   The 
exercises  are,  of  course,  at  the  gigantic  Union 
Depot  at  Tenth  and  Washington.    The  pas 
sengers  of  honor  include  this  Eric  Hedder,  the 
Mayor  and  some  of  his  political  enemies,  in- 


130  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

eluding  Black  Hawk  Boone,  who  is  making 
the  speech  of  the  afternoon.  This  prospect 
seems  to  please  his  daughter  fairly  well,  con 
sidering  how  she  hates  him.  But  now  we  are 
there,  and  Boone  is  already  speaking: 

"You  all  know  that  my  Kentucky  forbears 
went  west  and  settled  down  near  Cairo,  Illi 
nois,  and  also  that  I  feel  no  odium  in  the 
appelation  'Egyptian/  Possibly  the  name  of 
the  region,  ' Egypt,  Illinois'  derives  from  the 
fact  that  there  is  an  older  Cairo,  in  Egypt. 
Then  Memphis,  Tennessee  is  not  so  far  away. 
Possibly  the  floods  and  the  malaria  and  the 
frogs  and  the  languor  and  the  witchcraft  of 
legend,  where  the  Ohio  comes  rolling  down 
into  the  swamps,  help  out  the  Egyptian  idea. 
The  time  was  when  ' Egypt7  meant,  exclu 
sively,  that  part  of  Illinois  by  Cairo.  Now  it 
is  applied  in  derision  to  all  down  state  Illi 
nois,  by  the  peanut  politicians  of  Chicago.  In 
a  whirlwind  world,  independent  languor  be 
comes  a  virtue,  and  meditation  engenders  a 
finer  art  than  any  nervousness." 

Here  Avanel  whispers  to  me:  "He  is  a 
great  one  to  prate  of  languor. ' '  But  now  her 
father  is  mentioning  an  artist  she  admires. 

"Eric  Hedder,  who  designed  these  engines, 
is  a  ploughboy  from  near  my  home-town  of 
Cairo.  The  corn  dragons  are  indeed  messen- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  131 

gers  from  Egypt  to  Chicago,  and  other  where. 
The  corn-dragon  engine  is  a  giant  wound-up 
mechanical  toy  but  something  more.  It  is  a 
kind  of  citizen,  through  its  Egyptian  soul, 
and  through  the  soul  of  the  engineer  who  hap 
pens  at  any  time  to  inhabit  it.  He  is  one  of 
our  new  type  of  aristocracy.  The  older  aris 
tocracies  indicated  their  worth  by  having 
themselves  photographed  in  the  midst  of  their 
athletic  sports,  at  the  race  track,  or  playing 
golf  or  croquet,  or  in  soldier's  uniform.  But 
in  this  year  of  grace,  2018,  they  are  depicted 
as  amateur  or  professional  railroad  engineers, 
or  the  like.  To  hold  so  niany  lives  in  trust 
and  to  discharge  the  obligation  year  after 
year  without  faltering  is  classed  as  the  occu 
pation  of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman.  And  so, 
as  is  the  case  of  all  special  privilege,  the 
chariot  of  privilege  is  decorated  and  starred 
and  given  plumes  like  the  corn  and  made 
glorious. 

"To  me  this  is  a  journey  from  the  State  of 
Illinois  to  somewhere  else.  Loyalty  to  Chi 
cago  is  a  commendable  thing  in  itself,  but 
Chicago  is  the  commercial  center  of  the  entire 
United  States,  and  the  only  way  to  keep  it 
from  tipping  and  teetering  the  state  clean 
over,  is  to  bring  forward  other  than  commer 
cial  considerations.  Loyalty  to  Chicago  is  loy- 


132  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

alty  to  Florida  and  California,  Oregon  and 
Maine.  These  are  all  of  them  quite  commend 
able  commonwealths.  But  loyalty  to  Spring 
field  is  the  distinctive  sign  of  loyalty  to  Illi 
nois. 

"The  engines  will  rush  back,  bringing 
skilled  mechanics,  wise  industrial  statesmen, 
and  world  leaders  in  art  for  little  Springfield, 
down  here  in  Egypt.  Such  people  are  held 
in  infinitely  higher  honor  here  than  in  the 
Chicago  that  made  them.  All  men  and  women 
seem  to  have  increased  in  vanity  in  this  year 
2018,  and  this  is  a  highly  commendable 
change.  I  rejoice  that  citizens  of  the  United 
States  now  live  upon  honor  and  its  power 
more  than  upon  the  desire  for  mere  currency. 
So  the  corn-dragons  will  always  be  robbing 
Chicago,  America's  commercial  capital,  of 
her  best.  People  will  keep  coming  here  for 
much  smaller  salaries  and  for  more  passion 
ate  praise.  [Applause!] 

"I  hope  that  the  whizzing  and  whistling  of 
these  engines,  henceforth  more  musical  than 
of  old,  will  be  the  war  cry  of  our  whole 
Egyptian  village  and  countryside.  I  hope 
that  for  generation  after  generation  many 
dragons  of  this  breed  will  whirl  by,  and  many 
another  ploughboy,  sighting  them  through 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  133 

the  cornfields,  will  not  only  catch  the  original 
vision  of  Eric  Hedder,  but  new  untamed 
dreams  of  art  and  glory  and  creation  will  be 
engendered  on  such  days. 

"Without  haste,  without  rest,  our  rewards 
and  appreciations  pay  for  our  creations.  Let 
the  young  Egyptian  patriot  see  these  dragons 
as  big  brothers  that  sweep  through  the  high 
growing  corn  armies,  messengers  flying  from 
county  to  county,  crying  in  the  trumpet  glory 
of  their  silver  voices,  that  art  and  life  are 
married  in  the  region  of  the  capital/'  [Great 
Applause!] 

Avanel  admits  that  her  father  had  to 
roar  in  this  case,  for  the  crowd  was  large, 
and,  speaking  from  a  station  platform  in 
the  open  air,  the  loudest  man  cannot  be 
heard  with  traffic  going  by  and  newsboys 
selling  extras  about  the  event  before  it  hap 
pens.  We  walk  just  a  little  south  along  the 
viaduct  on  Tenth  from  the  great  New  Union 
Depot  to  a  most  familiar  and  ancient  struc 
ture,  a  kind  of  rough  memorial  shrine,  which 
was  once  the  station  whence  the  Lincoln  presi 
dential  train  left  for  Washington  and  where 
Lincoln  gave  his  parting  word  to  the  City 
of  Springfield.  Outside  the  door  of  the  mu 
seum,  Avanel  and  I  re-read  Lincoln's  famous 


134  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

farewell  to  his  fellow  citizens,  cast  in  bronze 
and  set  up  for  a  tablet  long  ago. 

Then,  being  in  the  mood  of  reminiscence, 
we  walk  past  the  Lincoln  residence  and 
Avanel  begins  to  compare  Lincoln  to  Jesus 
and  speak  of  him  as  the  greatest  person  sent 
to  men  since  Jesus.  And  I  think  the  sibyl 
has  at  last  permanently  emerged  and  that  my 
companion  is  finally  with  me. 

But  there  is  a  devil  in  this  Avanel.  And 
so  she  says,  partly  because  she  thinks  it,  and 
partly  because  she  knows  it  will  annoy  me: 
"I  wonder  if  the  Lincoln  residence  was  lo 
cated  among  the  best  people  when  it  was 
built  f ' '  And  then,  as  the  silence  grows  deadly 
on  my  side  of  the  conversation:  "My  grand 
mother  once  told  me  that  Mrs.  Lincoln  was 
really  a  fashionable  person  and  not  of  poor- 
white  stock  like  Lincoln  and  I  am  glad  to 
hear  it.  He  must  have  been  a  great  trial  to 
her,  with  her  refined  instincts." 

My  silence  growing  even  more  deadly  she 
continues : — ' '  I  am  sorry  the  Lincoln  residence 
is  not  in  a  more  fashionble  region  today.  I 
wonder  if  they  can  move  it  out  by  the  Country 
Club.  Springfield  is  all  '  society/  you  know, 
and  you  might  as  well  admit  it  ...  I 
wish  if  they  leave  the  residence  here  they 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  135 

would  move  these  common  houses  and  build 
a  great  Greek  Temple  over  the  Lincoln  home, 
and  make  a  park  for  about  two  hundred  yards 
each  way  and  have  big  avenues  leading  up 
to  it  and  allow  no  common  person  to  live 
anywhere  near  here.  Lincoln  was  after  all  the 
greatest  person  since  Jesus  and  we  ought  to 
show  some  sense  of  it." 

We  stroll  on  and  on,  and  Avanel,  being  not 
yet  twenty,  as  this  world  counts  the  years,  is 
somewhat  forgiven  for  these  discursive  re 
marks.  She  does  not  want  to  be  forgiven,  and 
hates  my  pious  forbearance  and  at  last  says: 
"I  simply  cannot  stand  that  cheap  cowboy 
hat  you  wear.  It  is  simply  a  ridiculous  pose 
or  else  the  instinct  of  a  rotter." 

So  I  take  Miss  Avanel  Boone  firmly  by  the 
arm  and  turn  her  toward  town  and  at  my  in 
sistence  we  step  into  the  first  gentlemen's 
furnishing  store  we  encounter  and  I  urge  her 
to  help  the  clerk  pick  out  a  hat  for  me.  They 
select  one  that  is  hardly  a  hair's  breadth  dif 
ferent  from  the  one  I  have  been  wearing.  I 
pay  for  it  in  paper  money,  "to  please  old 
Black  Hawk  Boone,"  as  I  explain  to  the 
humorous  clerk.  Avanel  seems  placated  by 
this  quip,  though  there  is  no  reason  on  earth 
why  she  should  be.  She  begins  to  behave  like 


136  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

a  Christian  at  once  and  stays  so,  all  the  way 
to  her  door.  And  I  bid  her  good  evening 
and  she  gives  me  the  word  I  may  soon  see  her 
dancing. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TEMPEST  IN  A  TEAPOT  OVER  WHETHER  PEOPLE  WITH 

BURIED  GOLD  SHALL  MONOPOLIZE  THE 

PLYING    PRIVILEGE. 

May  15,  2018:— It  is  the  evening  of  this 
day  and  Avanel  is  quite  busy  in  her  parlor 
with  costumes.  I  am  invited  for  dinner  with 
her  and  old  Boone.  I  am  to  help  her  immedi 
ately  after  to  the  theatre  with  her  costumes 
that  I  am  to  carry  in  two  heavy  suitcases. 
Three  friends  of  AvanePs  have  prepared  the 
dinner  and  serve  it  in  true  communal  frater 
nity.  According  to  their  chatter  the  coming 
event  is  all  in  the  spirit  of  a  college  lark  or 
grand  commencement  occasion,  rather  than  a 
churchly  event. 

But  when  I  sit  in  the  Gordon  Craig  Theatre, 
strangers  to  the  right  and  left  of  me,  the 
theatre  darkened  and  the  stage  a  temple 
steps,  the  Avanel  emerges  that  has  refused  so 
many  times  to  come  forth  at  my  petition.  Her 
face  and  carriage  convey  the  sibyl,  the  saint, 
the  mother  of  great  sages  of  our  city  and  the 
muse  of  poets  of  our  city.  She  hardly  knows 
this,  for  the  innocence  of  her  unspoiled  youth 
tells  its  gentle,  overwhelming  story,  As  for 

137 


138  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

the  alleged  dance,  it  is  more  procession  than 
anything  else:  boys  and  girls,  men  and 
women,  moving  to  varied  chants  or  meas 
ured  silences  or  amid  wonderful  and  meas 
ured  lights.  There  is  no  very  direct  al 
lusion  to  the  Birthday  of  St.  Scribe.  Old 
political  parades  are  suggested  and  historical 
triumphs,  but  mostly  the  type  of  parade  that 
might  be  held  of  a  Sunday  before  a  religious 
service,  ending  at  a  shrine  or  an  altar. 
There  are  ceremonies  from  the  book  of  St. 
Scribe  of  the  Shrines.  His  favorite  shrines 
are  suggested,  beginning  with  the  Grave  of 
Lincoln  at  Oak  Eidge.  The  dancers  are 
crowned  with  Apple-Amaranth  leaves,  which 
are  larger  than  ordinary  apple-leaves  and  a 
paler  green.  Avanel's  part  in  the  pageantry 
is  but  that  of  a  leader  and  partner  of  the  chief 
marching  man,  young  Joseph  Bartholdi 
Michael,  the  Third.  Avanel  is  closely  followed 
in  glory  and  signficance  by  the  whole  com 
pany.  And  Michael  deftly  takes  his  place  as  a 
proper  background  for  Avanel,  for  which  I 
thank  him.  Therefore  when  Avanel  sits  with 
me  a  little  by  her  open  fire  tonight,  all  tired 
out  and  very  solemn  she  knows  she  has  vindi 
cated  herself  in  my  eyes  a  little  and  she  tosses 
her  head  and  wears  jauntily  one  young  green 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  139 

Apple-Amaranth  leaf  which  still  gleams 
brightly  in  her  black  hair. 

She  asks,  as  a  child:  "Did  it  seem  as 
though  we  were  at  shrines  together  or 
walking  in  the  woods  together  ?"  And  so  I 
answer:  "I  have  never  yet  been  at  any  of 
these  shrines  but  that  of  Lincoln  and  that 
many,  many  years  ago.  But  it  did  seem  as 
though  we  were  walking  in  the  woods  to 
gether  among  the  very  oldest  trees.  I  want 
to  go  to  shrines  with  you  soon." 

And  Avanel  asks  me:  "Do  you  think  we 
will  get  on  better  in  woods  ? ' ' 

And  so  I  answer,  not  quite  to  the  point: 
"A  tree  a  thousand  years  old  has  leaves  in 
the  spring,  as  green  as  when  a  sapling.  But 
if  my  dust  had  lived  to  this  hour,  it  would 
have  been  the  semblance  of  a  palsied  man,  a 
horror  more  than  grave  clothes.  Such  as  I 
am,  I  pray  to  the  God  of  Heaven  that  I  may 
be  the  green  leaf  in  your  hair. ' ' 

May  16: — I  find  myself  walking  in  the 
shadows,  where  there  is  neither  Springfield 
lior  Jerusalem  nor  any  other  known  place, 
where  there  is  neither  calendar  nor  clock  nor 
sun.  The  clouds  of  meditation  are  beneath 
my  feet,  storm  overhead.  One  flash  of  light 
ning  lasts  for  an  eternity  and  the  thunder 
roll  is  as  long. 


140  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

May  17: — I  walk  with  Avanel  again 
through  our  town.  As  we  pass  beneath  the 
splendid  and  soaring  towers,  we  note  the  signs 
of  the  various  citizens  who  occupy  the  shops, 
facing  the  street.  As  we  pass  the  ladies' 
tailoring  establishments,  we  see  fancy  dress 
and  religious  costuming,  to  be  used  for  cere 
monials  such  as  the  festival  of  Hunter  Kelly. 
They  are  carefully  made,  these  costumes,  for 
permanent  and  individual  use.  Many  people, 
men  and  women,  pass  us  on  the  street  well 
fitted  out,  splendid,  yet  realistic,  off  hand, 
casual,  and  unconcerned,  citizens  in  all  sorts 
of  well  fitting,  brightly  dyed  ceremonial  gear. 
It  is  rather  the  custom  of  the  city  to  come  out 
more  and  more  gaily  for  the  spring,  summer 
and  autumn.  In  the  cold  weather  it  is  the 
idea  to  dress  as  of  old  and  according  to  the 
customs  of  the  United  States,  in  routine  gar 
ments. 

And  now,  being  light  hearted,  Avanel  and 
I  make  an  amusement  of  going  the  rounds  of 
the  more  fancy  ice-cream  parlors.  They  bear 
the  old  names,  Maldener's,  Kutrakon's,  Bon- 
ansinga's,  Stuart 's,  and  there  is  the  beau 
tiful  place  of  Najim,  the  Syrian.  Stuart's  is 
conducted  by  a  direct  descendant  of  the  origi 
nal  family,  as  also  Bonansinga's.  Some  of 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  141 

the  places  are  in  the  hands  of  new  firms  but 
keep  the  old  names. 

The  sign-painters'  shops  are  a  wilderness 
of  bedevilment.  They  are  almost  official  ex 
tensions  of  the  art  department  of  the  World's 
Fair  of  the  University  of  Springfield.  They 
are  full  of  everything  that  may  be  painted  to 
bring  rejoicing  to  the  fastidious  stranger. 

It  is  growing  toward  evening  and  my  dear 
lady  has  signified  that  she  will  consent  to 
eat  with  me  in  that  restaurant  room  of  glass, 
that  high  tower  place,  where  she  gave  me  my 
first  view  of  the  new  city.  And,  as  we  walk 
that  way,  we  are  amazed  at  something  as 
novel  to  her  as  to  myself.  We  have  been  al 
most  noting  it  to  one  another  all  day.  With 
glowering  faces  and  ugly  looks,  two  factions 
in  costume  are  passing  and  re-passing  one 
another.  And  there  are  threats  of  fist  fights 
between  the  young  men  and  some  appoint 
ments  for  real  battles  without  gloves  are  ob 
viously  made,  with  those  euphuisms  that  in 
the  old  day  covered  appointments  for  pistol 
deeds. 

There  are  two  factions  of  aviators,  one 
dressed  somewhat  in  the  color  scheme  of  the 
robin,  including  the  vest,  which  follows  the 
red  color  of  the  breast  of  that  bird.  The  rival 


142  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

faction  are  the  Snobs,  who  are  out  with  it, 
make  no  quibble  about  being  snobs,  and  are 
costumed  with  hints  of  the  wasp  and  bee. 
There  are  as  many  girls  and  women,  as  boys 
and  men,  in  the  Snob  and  Robin  costumes. 
All  this  has  sprung  up  from  the  ground  in  a 
few  days  and  is  not  in  the  pageant  and  festi 
val  calendar  of  the  city.    The  aviator's  day 
for  dressing  up  is  in  early  October.   But  the 
surprise  is  not  so  much  the  new  costumes  as 
the  increasing  sharpness  of  the  controversy. 
Most  of  the  children  of  the  Boone  and  Michael 
clans,  rivals  though  they  be,  are  dressed  as 
Robins  and  expound  to  us  their  side  of  a  com 
plicated  matter.    The  substance  is  that  the 
city  is  liable  to  a  riot  over  the  use  and  mon 
opoly  of  the  flying  machines  by  the  Snobs,  led 
by  one  John  Nash,  sometimes  called  "Beau 
Nash,"  and  the  Snobs  are  defying  their  ene 
mies  and  spoiling  for  a  riot.    While  Avanel 
and  I  have  our  customary  little  dinner  in 
what  was  once  a  quiet  corner,  two  young 
Booneites  we  have  previously  interviewed, 
having  finished  their  chocolate,  come  to  us 
and  roar  their  anger  again  in  our  ears  and 
seek  to  recruit  our  good  opinions,  as  they 
nerve  themselves  to  subdue  the  Snobs  and  if 
necessary  shoot  holes  in  their  machines. 
May  18: — The  costumes  of  the  rival  factions 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  143 

have  disappeared  from  these  streets.  All 
noise  and  argument  have  disappeared.  The 
city  goes  about  the  even  tenor  of  its  way.  The 
papers  are  full  of  the  social  and  military  af 
fairs  of  the  Amazons  and  the  Horseshoe 
Brotherhood  and  denunciations  of  the  world's 
common  enemy,  Singapore.  I  am  wonder 
ing  why  I  have  never  gone  to  Camp  Lincoln 
to  see  these  Amazons  and  Michaelites  drill 
ing  in  full  panoply  of  war  and  wondering 
even  more  why  the  child  Avanel  is  at  the 
head  of  them.  She  must  be  a  sort  of  i  '  daugh 
ter  of  the  regiment,"  as  one  may  say,  deco 
rative  royalty,  with  the  real  management  in 
other  hands.  But  I  always  speak  in  her  pres 
ence  of  military  matters  as  though  she  were 
in  actual  command.  Tonight  I  meet  her  near 
her  home  as  she  comes  riding  from  Camp 
Lincoln  on  her  white  war  pony.  She  is  a  cen- 
tauress. 

Not  only  is  her  pony  white  but  every 
thread  of  her  riding  habit  is  white.  I  help 
her  down  from  her  pony,  go  through  the  en 
tirely  unnecessary  motion  of  doing  so,  and  we 
lead  the  tired  steed  around  to  the  stable  in  the 
rear  of  the  Boone  cottage  and  old  Boone  is 
there,  waiting  to  feed  and  water  the  creature. 
The  father  is  ignored  and  the  horse  is  spoken 


144  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

to  by  Avanel  in  terms  of  endearment.  We 
go  into  the  house  and  sit  by  that  unlit 
fireplace  and  wait  for  Black  Hawk  to  come 
in  to  dinner.  All  of  which  is,  by  the  way, 
preliminary  to  the  fact  I  wish  here  to 
record,  that  the  tired  Avanel  draws  from  "her 
belt  an  old  hunting  knife  and  its  heavy  white 
sheath  and  puts  it  on  the  mantle  with  the 
unbuckled  Avanel  sword  and  sheath,  then  al 
lows  me  to  take  them  down,  and  answers  my 
questions  about  the  knife. 

i  l  This  is  the  hunting  knife  my  remote  an 
cestor,  Daniel  Boone,  carried  into  the  wilder 
ness  of  Kentucky  in  his  first  discovery  of  the 
blue  grass  region  that  was  to  him  new  Eden. 
.  .  .  This  hunting  knife  means  more  to  me 
than  pride  in  fighting  blood.  It  may  go 
through  the  heart  of  some  cocaine-crazy  crea 
ture  in  far  Asia.  But  it  means  that  other 
thing  to  me,  the  sanctity  of  the  log  cabin,  or 
the  cottage  which  we  must  defend  as  Boone 
defended  the  first  cabins  in  the  blue  grass.  To 
him  they  were  pavilions  of  new  patriarchs, 
not  barnyards  or  forts/' 

May  19 : — By  this  time  all  the  trees  are  put 
ting  forth  their  second  leaves,  and  smaller 
blossoms  than  before  the  frost.  But  everyone 
is  rejoicing  for  it  is  spring  of  a  sort.  The  air 
is  filled  with  hovering  branches  in  palest 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  145 

green,  a  good  gift  to  man.  The  town  knows 
it  and  walks  abroad  gaily,  this  morning  of 
May  nineteenth. 

Then,  late  in  the  afternoon,  local  war 
breaks  out  suddenly  and  we  know  nothing 
about  the  trees,  and  care  less.  It  is  a  Spring 
field  utterly  new  and  terrible  to  its  citizens. 
The  star  chimes  are  not  allowed  to  ring.  I 
am  with  Comrade  Avanel  in  the  very  top  of 
the  Truth  Tower.  The  terrors  of  flight  and 
pursuit  sweep  over  the  far  sections  of  Spring 
field  given  over  to  aviation  fields,  orchards 
and  the  like. 

When  machines  overtake  each  other  there 
is,  so  far,  no  shooting  or  the  like,  only  a 
veering  to  the  right  or  left.  It  might  be  a 
game  of  tag,  were  it  not  for  the  symbolism 
in  decoration  put  on  by  the  two  factions  driv 
ing  the  machines.  There  is  a  big  death 's  head 
painted  near  the  front  of  every  Snob  machine, 
and  the  hunting  knife  of  Daniel  Boone 
painted  on  the  front  of  every  Robin  Eedbreast 
machine. 

Neither  Black  Hawk  Boone  nor  Avanel  has 
authorized  any  such  use  of  this  symbol.  The 
whole  threat  and  roaring  are  unauthorized 
by  any  of  the  leaders  of  factions.  The 
'  *  People ' '  have  escaped  the  leash. 

Avanel  is  the  only  reporter  her  father  will 


146  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

trust  tonight  and  she  has  come  to  the  top 
room  of  the  Truth  Tower,  because  it  is  the 
observation  and  news  gathering  room  for 
things  that  may  be  untangled  from  a  tower. 
All  the  papers  have  made  common  cause  to 
night.  All  the  telescopes  are  in  use,  looking  to 
the  borders  just  beyond  the  City  Wall,  the 
borders  of  Morgan,  Menard,  Logan,  Macon, 
Christian,  Montgomery  and  Macoupin  Coun 
ties.  The  news  is  assembled  and  everything 
observed  is  explained  by  telephones  from 
these  regions  and  re-telephoned  into  the  vari 
ous  offices  and  rewritten  there  and  then  tele 
graphed  to  all  the  world  that  cares.  News- 
gathering  remains  what  it  has  been  for  a  cen 
tury  and  a  half.  Boone  is  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  phone  from  Avanel  and  the  first  definite 
effects  of  the  threatened  air-riot  are  to  make 
that  gentleman  quite  profane. 

The  flying  machines  were  at  first  not 
public  property.  But  so  much  crowding 
out  of  the  truly  skilled  flyers  came  about 
by  the  monopolists  with  buried  gold,  that  ma 
chines  are  now  rented  to  private  citizens  by 
the  state  or  city  for  a  nominal  fee  and  deposit 
for  damages.  To  enter  the  examinations  in 
the  autumn  and  to  fly  for  the  year  is,  in 
thoory,  one  of  the  privileges  of  highly  skilled, 
athletic  people.  Our  friend,  Portia,  the  Sing- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  14,?, 

ing  Aviator,  is  with  us  tonight  and  help 
ing  unravel  the  story  of  the  rise  of  fac 
tions.  And  the  gentle  creature  has  written  of 
the  uppermost  blue  and  of  the  dawn  clouds 
and  of  the  map  of  the  earth  and  of  sailing 
around  the  curve  of  the  earth.  This  young 
girl  is  appalled  to  be  obliged  to  take  sides  in 
'the  controversy  and  enlist  for  a  possible  battle 
of  mere  children.  The  most  famous  aviators 
on  each  side  come  from  the  High  Schools. 
She  does  not  want  to  paint  war  insignia  upon 
her  machine.  But  already  her  literary  imita 
tors  have  done  so.  Her  three  most  sedulous 
apes  in  the  High  School,  John  Nash  and  Find- 
lay  Bryson  and  Margaret  Eand,  who  have  di 
luted  her  innocent  and  heroic  songs,  turning 
them  into  society  verses,  now  demand  that 
she  put  the  death 's  head  upon  her  machine,  or 
lose  them  as  disciples.  And  Portia  is  appalled 
to  find  that  the  names  she  once  chose  in  sport 
rto  classify  the  machines  are  now  used  to  rep 
resent  actual  factions  in  the  threatened  war. 
The  Robin  Redbreast  and  Carrier-Pigeon 
machines  are  all  on  the  side  of  the  Eobins, 
and  the  Snobs  are  subdivided  into  the  Don 
Juan,  the  Eaider,  the  Flamboyant,  the  Brah 
min  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise.  It  is  the  ex 
ceedingly  high  priced  Brahmin  and  Bird  of 
Paradise  machines  that  make  the  trouble. 


148  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

People  go  to  the  High  Schools  past  their 
twenty-first  year.  And  the  town  is  first  torn 
up  by  High  School  pupils,  children  of  the 
local  multimillionaires,  such  of  them  as  still 
have  brains  and  body  enough  to  go  through 
the  rigid  examinations  for  aviation.  These* 
children  of  men  with  buried  gold  are  again 
and  again  at  the  top  of  the  aviation  waiting- 
lists.  This  is  especially  exasperating  because 
having  a  private  fortune  is  proclaimed  in 
every  political  speech  to  be  against  the  Con 
stitution  of  the  United  States  and  the  Consti 
tution  of  the  State  of  Illinois. 

And  so  youngsters  of  the  Wicked  Stand 
ings,  the  Cheerful  Eadleys,  the  Arrogant 
Bocks,  the  Fat  Zebeskys,  the  Nervous  Kus- 
ukos,  the  Slick  Slack  Kopenskys,  the  Shrewd 
Sims  family,  and  all  that  set  try  successfully 
to  monopolize  the  priceless  Brahmin  and  Bird 
of  Paradise.  Their  sinecure  is  defended  in 
silly  verse  by  Findlay  Bryson,  John  Nash, 
sometimes  called  "Beau  Nash,"  and  Mar 
garet  Rand. 

May  20: — Many  of  those  parading  the 
streets  in  the  Redbreast  costume  are  skill 
ful  High  School  seniors,  young  men  and 
women,  licensed  graduate  aviators,  whose 
machine  rent-money  has  been  refused  through 
the  quibbling  of  the  corrupted  authorities. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  149 

The  only  work  left  open  to  them  is  drilling  for 
the  work  of  mail  carriers  for  the  International 
Government.  Word  comes  to  the  news  room 
at  the  top  of  the  Truth  Tower  that  all  through 
the  counties  touching  the  Springfield  wall, 
wherever  Brahmin  and  Bird  of  Paradise  ma 
chines  reach  the  ground,  the  farmers  taking 
Springfield  affairs  a  little  more  seriously  than 
we  do,  proceed  to  set  torch  to  the  wings. 

May  21 : — The  Robin  Eedbreast  people  can 
work,  at  least,  and  their  costume  has  now 
flooded  the  offices.  There  is  such  a  tension 
everywhere  (without  the  least  thing  really 
happening)  and  the  streets  are  so  full  of 
marching  Robins  that  the  young  sports  say 
today  that  they  have  surrendered.  There  is 
much  talk  of  peace  and  sentimental  prattle 
about  our  dear  little  town  and  slush  about  all 
calling  each  other  "  cousin "  again.  But  just 
before  midnight  The  Bo  one  Ax  gets  out  an 
extra,  charging  that  the  Brahmin  and  Bird  of 
Paradise  machines  are  tied  up  to  the  snob 
children  by  long  time  leases  and  there  is  not 
one  but  still  remains  in  the  hands  of  the  owner 
of  a  secret  fortune  or  some  directly  obligated 
minion  of  the  same. 

May  22:— The  sky  is  all  gold  today.  The 
Snob  machines  reappear,  defiantly  gilded,  and 
on  the  front  of  every  one  is  painted  the  name 


150  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

of  the  Snob  using  it,  and  after  his  name  the 
word : — ' '  Owner. ' '  And  young  John  Nash  has 
taken  the  fatal  step  and  added  a  terrible  ele 
ment  to  what  was  before  but  a  family  row 
that  was  leading  nowhere  in  particular.  He 
has  decorated  his  machine  with  green  jade 
eyes  and  pictures  of  the  green  and  speckled 
lotus  of  the  Cocaine  Buddha  of  Singapore  and 
thereby  added  the  final  insult  of  "interna 
tional  and  national  treason "  and  utterly 
changed  the  spirit  of  the  fight.  All  day  the 
gilded  machines  go  by  unmolested  among  the 
angry  Pigeons  and  Robins,  but  as  Black 
Hawk  Boone  says  in  a  big  type  evening  edi 
torial:  "John  Nash  has  tattooed  himself 
with  treason  f  orevermore  and  it  remains  to  be 
seen  whether  every  gilded  wing  stands  for 
treason. " 

May  23: — The  University  set  today  bring 
forth  legislation  which  is  drawn  up  and  spon 
sored  by  John  Boat  and  St.  Friend,  the  Giver 
of  Bread.  This  emergency  legislation,  backed 
by  the  immediate  surrender  and  burning  of 
the  arrogant  leases,  appears  to  insure  uni 
form  rents  for  all  machines  of  whatever  class. 
The  fear  of  the  curse  of  treason  has  made  all 
the  gold-foil  faction  meek  as  rabbits  for  a 
day.  And  so  they  consent  to  the  cancellation 
of  all  previous  lists  and  papers  of  all  sorts 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  151 

and  the  re-enlistment  of  all  aviators  once  a 
month.  They  consent  to  the  proposal  that  it 
be  made  a  jail  offense  to  use  the  same  ma 
chine  longer  than  three  months.  Machines 
must  be  re-rented  in  order  as  registered.  No 
classification  to  be  made  as  to  value  of  ma 
chine,  or  gold-foil  on  the  wings,  or  type  of 
machine:— every  aviator  to  take  his  chance. 
St.  Friend  thinks  that  he  and  Justice  of  the 
Peace,  John  Boat,  have  done  well.  Certainly 
this  afternoon,  according  to  the  new  arrange 
ment,  it  is  as  in  Utopia  and  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  the  privileged  and  unprivileged,  have 
equal  chances  in  the  air. 

We  are  alone  in  the  Truth  Tower,  my 
love  and  I,  and  we  are  talking  of  St. 
Friend,  who  has  brought  this  all  about, 
and  Avanel  sends  for  him,  to  take  in  the  view 
of  the  sunset  with  us,  if  he  pleases,  and  wait 
with  us  for  the  returning  star  chimes.  The 
evening  and  its  beauty,  after  such  days  of 
empty  stampede  and  panic,  move  my  lady 
Avanel  to  deeper  words  than  are  her  habit. 
And  of  the  coming  guest,  she  whispers: — 
"St.  Friend  represents,  almost  in  spite  of 
himself,  the  idea  of  thousands  of  laymen,  that 
few  priests  have  represented: — the  general 
idea  of  religion,  under  a  church  roof,  with 
one's  fellow  human  beings.  The  idea  stands 


152  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

in  contrast  to  any  worship  chained  to  a  spe 
cial  list  of  teachings.  St.  Friend  champions 
freedom,  yet  his  kind  of  freedom  goes  to 
prayer,  of  its  own  choice,  with  no  theological 
or  creed  fences,  to  what  he  calls,  'the  blessed 
company  of  all  faithful  people. ' 

St.  Friend  comes  to  us,  just  before  the  star 
chimes  begin  to  ring.  He  steps  out  from  the 
noiseless  elevator  and  is  before  us  while  we 
are  speaking.  Avanel  pets  him  as  she  does 
her  father  when  she  is  being  especially  good, 
and  the  aged  guest  likes  it,  of  course.  He 
sits  in  the  largest  and  easiest  chair  which 
is  reserved  for  guests  in  The  Bo  one  Ax  room, 
and  he  hunches  forward,  a  stooped  giant.  He 
looks  through  the  top  of  his  eyebrows  at 
Avanel  and  he  keeps  time  to  his  armchair 
talk,  beating  the  arms  of  the  chair  slowly  with 
his  open  hands,  according  to  a  habit  from  of 
old.  He  rubs  his  face  and  his  old  forehead 
with  his  palms  as  though  to  wake  up  and 
deliberately  brings  a  flush  to  his  forehead. 
By  incessantly  beating  the  chair  and  hum 
ming  and  hawing  he  seems  to  beat  up  a  kind 
of  nervous  strength  from  some  hidden  source 
in  the  air  and  talks  with  increasing  animation 
about  the  "strike"  or  "riot"  or  "whatever 
it  may  be  called"  and  mentions  with  great 
complacency  his  measures  against  it.  And 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  153 

now  another  curtain  seems  to  lift  from  the 
soul  of  Avanel.  The  spirit  of  prophecy  is 
upon  her.  The  old  man  listens  with  fixed 
eyes.  The  youth  of  his  immortal  soul  seems 
to  me,  in  this  hour  of  revelation,  to  depend 
upon  clear  speaking  on  the  part  of  this  young 
voice.  She  is  denouncing  with  endless  words 
the  ironies  of  flying  and  material  dreams, 
yet  with  girl  slang  and  wit  mixed  in  with 
it  all 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    END   OF    THE    FLYING    MACHINE    RIOTS,    PANICS, 
ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS. 

May  24: — Today  with  that  same  light  in  his 
eye,  St.  Friend  preaches  back  at  Avanel  the 
sermon  she  preached  to  him  last  evening  with, 
of  course,  many  turns  of  his  own.  I  sit  with 
her  quite  close  to  the  pulpit  of  the  Cathedral. 
The  place  is  packed  to  the  doors. 

"You  all  know  my  aversion  to  the  motion 
picture.  It  is  one  element  in  the  university 
about  which  I  differ  from  the  majority  of  the 
board.  If  I  express  an  equal  distrust  of  the 
flying  machine,  you  will  say  I  am  probably 
against  all  mechanical  advancement. 

"Such  advancement  is  but  a  qualified  gift 
to  man.  The  best  wings  are  spirit  wings,  how 
ever  we  fly  with  them.  It  is  better  to  be  like 
Shelley  than  to  have  the  glory  of  Langley  and 
Wilbur  and  Orville  Wright. 

"I  deeply  mourn  that  Springfield  has  been 
almost  ready  to  bleed  and  die  over  the  flying- 
machine  issue.  I  am  sorry  that  either  our 
good  or  our  bad  people  are  obsessed.  The 
father  of  the  souls  of  many  of  our  young 

154 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  155 

people  seems  the  telegraph,  the  mother,  the 
railroad.  There  does  not  appear  to  be  a  fila 
ment  of  their  minds  made  of  anything  more 
human  than  the  uncanny  filament  of  the  in 
candescent  light.  When  they  peer  into  the 
future  of  our  city,  they  imagine  our  optical 
factories  and  the  like,  hard  at  work  produc 
ing  things  like  the  new  lens  gun  but  more  in 
genious.  The  odor  of  acids  is  ever  on  their 
garments,  never  the  incense  of  some  future 
Christmas  day.  They  envy  the  discovery 
of  the  three  new  infinitesimal  elements  by 
the  chemists  of  Singapore.  No  wonder  some 
of  them  finally  turn  to  the  green  and  speckled 
lotus  and  the  cocaine  Buddha. 

"The  service  this  type  of  imagination  has 
done  our  city  is  calculable,  definite.  People 
moved  by  it  have  made  our  factories  the  most 
notable  of  the  kind  in  this  region  of  the  Uni 
ted  States.  And  they  give  us  also  an  airship 
of  the  mind  that  carries  us  far  into  the  future 
and  we  return  heavily  ladened.  We  examine 
the  treasure.  It  is  a  funny  little  creature 
called  'man, 9  carrying  an  extraordinary  world 
conquering  device,  some  amorphous,  dubious 
toy,  akin  to  the  ancient  phonograph. 

"Let  us  agree  that  whatever  carries  bread 
across  the  world  is  of  service.  Whatever  puts 
a  roof  over  the  head  of  democracy  is  worth 


156  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

while.  Whatever  puts  clothing  on  the  back  of 
mankind  must  be  respected.  And  because 
they  fetch  and  carry  well,  such  gifts  as  the 
dragons  of  Eric  Hedder  are  not  to  be  gainsaid 
in  this  place. 

"But  let  us  not  hesitate  to  examine  such 
devices  and  consider  where  this  matter  of 
toy-making  is  going  to  lead  us.  Will  the  mil 
lennial  future  be  a  tin  and  wire  world,  an  elec 
trical  experiment  station,  and  no  more? 

* '  We  compare  it  to  the  automobile.  The  ad 
vantage  is  all  on  the  side  of  the  flying  ma 
chine.  The  automobile  is  a  sort  of  racing  hog. 
The  flying  machine  is,  by  comparison,  a  wild 
swan.  And,  crossing  world  oceans,  it  works 
for  world  unity. ' ' 

Avanel's  face  is  taking  on  the  deepest  crim 
son  I  have  ever  seen  upon  it.  About  every 
tenth  sentence  is  her  own.  St.  Friend  laughs, 
the  congregation  supposes,  at  his  own  wit. 
He  continues: — 

"And  for  the  fatness  of  the  overfed  auto 
mobile  driver  we  substitute  the  leanness  of 
the  bird-boned  boy  or  girl  aviator.  The  fly 
ing  machine  is  a  representative  of  the  peril 
ous  privilege  of  physical  aspiration.  But 
what  goes  up  must  come  down.  The  aviator 
is  sure  of  a  return  journey.  Portia  will  tell 
us,  in  an  exalted  mood,  that  the  aviator  is  up 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  157 

there  to  investigate  the  great  milky  way  for 
us.  She  will  tell  us  that  clouds  and  sky  now 
enter  into  the  pleasure  landscape  of  democ 
racy.  She  makes  it  plain  to  us  that  the  tops 
of  the  sunset  towers,  of  the  man-built  Truth 
Tower,  are  not  the  top  of  the  Universe. 

"  'The  Aviator/  she  says,  'is  our  delegate 
to  the  congress  of  planets. '  Yet  if  we  agree 
with  every  song  of  Portia,  there  is  even  more 
to  be  said  for  looking  out  upon  the  fields  from 
no  higher  point  of  vantage  than  the  footpath, 
if  we  be  taking  such  a  pilgrimage  as  that  of 
St.  Scribe  of  the  Shrines,  beginning  with  the 
first  shrine,  the  Tomb  of  Lincoln,  and  pray 
ing  the  prayers  St.  Scribe  has  written  down 
for  us,  as  we  go  around  the  world  to  the  one 
hundred  shrines  of  the  one  hundred  religions. 
We  may  take  part  of  that  journey  by  steam 
ship  and  airship  but  it  is  when  we  are  afoot 
we  gain  wisdom. "  And  so  St.  Friend,  the 
Giver  of  Bread,  continues  upon  his  favorite 
theme  of  ''The  Pilgrimage"  and  urges  upon 
us  that  life  is  a  glorious  adventure  and  was 
never  meant  to  be  a  matter  of  merely  mechani 
cal  achievement  or  cold  calculation  for  physi 
cal  power.  And  AvanePs  heightened  color 
continues. 

But  what  is  the  real  Avanel?  As  we  leave 
church,  we  look  up  and  she  shrieks  with  de- 


158  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

light.  Every  known  variety  of  machine  is  in 
long  line,  is  in  cavalry  formations  in  which 
she  delights,  some  of  which  she  uses  with  her 
own  Amazons,  and  she  shouts  the  orders 
and  claps  her  hands  and  tries  to  antici 
pate  each  new  maneuver  with  her  orders,  like 
chanticleer  crowing,  and  ordering  the  sun  to 
rise.  She  stands  amid  the  purple  cottages 
like  a  fairy  in  a  bed  of  violets  and  it  is  as 
though  all  the  butterflies  of  the  Sangamon 
Valley  land  had  become  gorgeous  giants  for 
us  and  were  flying  for  our  delight.  For  over 
head  friend  and  foe  are  celebrating  truce,  if 
not  peace,  and  the  whole  remaining  populace 
is  in  the  street  to  behold  it. 

May  25: — I  am  reading  in  the  Truth  Tower, 
in  the  newspaper  lookout  room,  last  even 
ing's  Boone  Ax  with  Avanel  and  talking  it 
over  with  her.  It  seems  that  the  inside  politi 
cal  whispers  convey  to  the  intelligent  the  fact 
that  Mayo  Sims  has  sent  out  his  dragnet: — 
his  jesters,  his  druggists,  his  coffee  house 
wits,  to  talk  among  the  older  people  and  get 
their  youngsters  in  hand.  And  he  has  been 
strongly  abetted  by  the  arrogant  Eock  family. 

The  arrogant  Eock  family  have  other,  if 
limited,  claims  to  consideration.  They  have 
rightly  prided  themselves  on  being  experts 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  159 

on  the  coal  question.  Some  of  the  most  of 
fensive  of  them  are  indeed  learned  in  this 
matter.  It  remains  a  family  talent  and  accom 
plishment,  when  nothing  else  can  be  said  for 
these  people.  For  many  a  day,  and  indeed 
for  two  generations,  on  behalf  of  the  city  and 
state,  they  have  been  flying  from  mine  to 
mine  in  their  working  hours,  giving  expert 
advice  or  exercising  stern  authority,  accord 
ing  to  their  specific  offices. 

The  Rock  family  began  as  the  Michaelites 
began.  For  a  long  time  it  was  a  tradition  that 
every  boy  of  the  Eock  clan  must  dig  coal  with 
the  pick  for  a  certain  number  of  years,  and 
belong  to  the  Miner '&  Union.  But  these  peo 
ple  gradually  rose  from  labor-union  officers, 
who  dug,  in  a  nominal  way,  to  able  but 
unwholesome  fops  who  would  rather  be 
hanged  than  dirty  their  own  hands  in  coal. 

They  hate  the  Michaelites  in  a  very  special 
way  for  going  doggedly  and  literally  on  with 
their  horseshoeing  and  hammering  out 
swords.  But  the  Eock  family  know  when  they 
have  had  enough  and  hate  the  open  accusation 
of  Singaporianism  that  is  the  result  of  the 
antics  of  "Beau  Nash." 

It  seems  that  "Beau  Nash"  has  become 
a  fanatic,  he  has  been  initiated  into  the 


160  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

devilish  religion,  and  he  defies  the  commit 
tee  from  Mayo  Sims,  Slick  Slack  Kopens- 
ky,  and  the  Eocks,  that  has  subdued  all 
the  other  young  representatives  of  the  flying 
snobs.  He  says  he  will  do  as  he  pleases,  and 
do  it  soon,  that  this  is  a  land  of  religious 
liberty,  that  he  chooses  the  green  glass  god 
of  Singapore,  of  his  own  free  will,  and  there 
is  no  treason  in  it,  that  he  will  have  the  law 
on  whoever  molests  him. 

Now  there  are  shouting  and  cries  below 
and  there  are  jinglings  of  all  the  phones  in 
the  lookout  rooms  and  when  we  answer  one 
we  are  told  that  Nash  has  already  ascended 
and  is  coming  from  the  west.  Almost  in 
stantly  we  see  him  and  then  he  is  directly 
above  the  Truth  Tower,  circling,  going  up, 
and  circling  and  going  down,  while  his  own 
old  faction,  in  the  street,  grow  angrier  every 
minute.  He  has  painted  his  whole  machine 
the  Singaporian  green  and  there  are  all  the 
special  signs  and  seals  of  Singapore  he  can 
put  there,  upon  the  body  of  his  machine,  and 
finally,  in  insult  to  our  virtuous  city,  he  flies 
low  that  we  may  see  them  and  then  flies  high 
that  we  may  hate  him. 

But  on  his  third  descent,  a  Robin  Redbreast 
machine,  with  all  speed  on,  sweeps  up  from 
the  north.  Nash  expects  a  threat,  but  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  161 

man  in  the  other  machine  begins  to  shoot 
at  Nash,  just  as  he  is  above  Washington  Park, 
and  down  comes  the  dead  man  by  the  Wash 
ington  Park  Pavilion,  with  a  terrific  crash 
of  broken  wings,  and  absurd  Singapore  has 
her  first  American  martyr. 

The  newspaper  people  come  pouring  into 
the  Truth  Tower.  We  all  send  the  story  to  the 
papers  as  we  can.  It  seems  that  the  avenger 
is  the  son  of  the  Mayor.  It  is  "Crawling  Jim 
Kopensky,"  the  new  President  of  the  Robin 
Eedbreast  flying  association.  He  has  been 
president  twenty-four  hours  and  has  made 
haste  to  vindicate  his  office. 

Of  course  there  will  be  no  prosecution  of 
Jim.  In  the  first  place  he  is  the  son  of  the 
Mayor.  In  the  second  place  he  is  now  a  news 
paper  hero.  In  the  third  place  he  has  removed 
the  blasphemer,  hated  alike  by  those  with  mil 
lions  in  gold  and  alcohol  buried  away,  and 
those  with  teetotal  tendencies  and  no  money 
but  their  legal  salaries. 

May  26: — Everyone  has  forgotten  the  fly 
ing  machine  feud.  An  Anti-Singapore  panic 
is  on.  St.  Friend  has  started  a  series  of  week 
day  sermons  against  Singapore  in  the  Cathe 
dral  and  Eabbi  Ezekiel  is  doing  the  same  in 
his  Temple  and  they  are  moving  all  secular 
forums  to  co-operate.  And  The  Boone  Ax 


162  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

whacks  and  chops  at  the  issue  for  no  one 
hates  a  Singaporian  better  than  Black  Hawk 
Boone,  the  roaring  cinnamon  bear.  It  is  hard 
to  make  out  any  justification  of  a  war  at  this 
exact  hour. 

When,  in  his  youth,  St.  Friend  made  the  Pil 
grimage  of  St.  Scribe  he  heard  certain  strange 
political  talk  near  the  dazzling  temple  of  the 
cocaine  Buddha  of  Singapore.  Three  half- 
English  Eurasians  were  deep  in  future  world 
politics.  This  conversation  temporarily 
spoiled  his  meditations  on  the  real  and  beau 
tiful  Prince  Gautama,  which  otherwise  con 
tinued  throughout  the  whole  of  Asia.  Ever 
since  that  day,  St.  Friend  has  been  giving  his 
attention  to  the  Japanese  and  Chinese  de 
nunciations  of  the  Singaporians,  especially 
since  those  denunciations  have  been  so  stoutly 
re-echoed  by  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the 
Second,  the  greatest  American  representative 
in  the  legislature  of  the  World  Government. 
That  tremendous  hall  has  rung  with  the  ham- 
merblows  of  Michael,  the  Blacksmith,  against 
international  treason,  the  arrogant  Singa 
porian  cry  of  "States  Bights." 

St.  Friend  and  the  Rabbi  and  Boone,  backed 
by  the  Board  of  Education,  proclaim  that 
they  have  been  studying  the  wily  local  policy 
of  the  man  from  Singapore.  It  seems  to  be 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  163 

first,  to  promote  confusion.  St.  Friend  de 
clares  that  the  stranger  has  incited  ' '  by  pecu 
liar  and  devious  means "  all  the  recklessness 
of  the  children  of  the  city  and  that  "the  de 
fiance  of  Beau  Nash  was  a  test  case ' '  and  that 
"the  man  from  Singapore  hoped,  if  the  Beau 
survived,  to  build  a  green  glass  temple  here. ' ' 
The  man  from  Singapore  is  really  a  public 
benefit  judged  by  the  mere  surface  of  things, 
since  he  is  the  scapegoat  for  all  our  recent 
fights  and  fevers.  But  no  man  touches  him. 
He  goes  on  teaching  in  the  University,  un 
molested.  His  classes  in  the  Malay  Peninsula 
languages  and  literature  are  well  attended  by 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  those  who  denounce 
him.  Many  wait  for  any  slip  of  the  tongue  or 
wrong  turn  of  the  voice  and  cannot  catch  him. 

They  cannot  help  liking  the  jolly  old  Malay 
lore  about  things  which  have  nothing  to  do 
with  politics  and  which  are  the  whole  theme 
of  the  brown  professor's  discourses. 

May  27: — Boone  and  his  faction  have 
slacked  up  on  the  Singaporian  scent  and  are 
back  on  the  old  argument.  Boone  declares 
that  the  University  must  be  put  more  firmly 
in  the  position  of  censor  of  the  administration, 
and  after  all  there  are,  by  actual  count,  a 
larger  group  of  those,  supposed  to  have  buried 
gold  and  buried  alcohol,  still  using  flying  ma- 


164  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

chines  than  the  list  of  our  ' '  common  people. ' ' 
The  Snobs  have  merely  put  on  the  Eobin 
Eedbreast  uniform.  And  he  boldly  prints  the 
list  of  those  morally  certain  to  have  much 
buried  alcohol  and  gold  but  puts  it  so  deftly 
there  is  no  risk  of  suit.  And  so,  to  make  good, 
the  City  Hall  starts  an  informal  flying  festival 
this  afternoon  and  crowds  anyone  who  can 
fly  at  all  into  machines  that  come  pouring 
down  from  Chicago  in.  response  to  orders 
from  our  City  Hall.  But  they  are  all  Eobin 
Eedbreast  machines. 

May  28: — The  Mayor  is  winning.  Simply 
by  giving  everyone  a  ride  who  can  pos 
sibly  be  persuaded  to  ride,  he  has  out 
numbered  in  one  day,  by  actual  count  of  tem 
porary  flyers,  the  active  Boone  constituency, 
and  what  is  called:  "The  Moral  Issue "  has 
completely  disappeared.  But  Boone  turns 
today  to  a  personal  issue.  He  gives  all  pos 
sible  attention  through  coffee-house  hench 
men,  and  openly,  in  The  Boone.  Ax,  to  the  dis 
crediting  of  "Crawling  Jim."  And  true  or 
false,  1>he  stories  are  whispered  around  the 
town  about  Jim  that  will  spoil  him  as  a  politi 
cal  asset  and  ruin  his  glory  as  the  punisher 
of  "Beau  Nash. " 

He  has  been  guilty  of  certain  cruelties  to 
•animals  and  children.  It  is  whispered  that  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  165 

police  have  clearly  established  it.  They  are 
keeping  the  records.  They  are  hoping  they 
may  some  day  have  the  freedom  to  act.  And 
so  Boone  gets  Jim  "  where  he  lives, "  for 
rumor  hurts  Jim  to  the  soul.  Since  he  is  him 
self  a  peddler  of  little  scandals,  it  is  his  world. 
He  is  said  to  be  a  carrier  of  everything  in  the 
way  of  poisoned  small-talk  to  that  strange 
beauty,  Mara,  the  daughter  of  Singapore. 
When  the  small  talk  turns  against  him,  as  he 
gathers  it,  he  droops  and  mopes  indeed  for 
an  hour  or  two. 

But  he  is  still  president  of  the  Robin  Red 
breast  Club  and  he  takes  his  consolation  this 
afternoon  by  extraordinary  evolutions  in  the 
air,  near  where  he  killed  Beau  Nash.  He  goes 
through  as  many  curves  as  a  pigeon  bred 
for  flying  tricks.  And  it  is  said  on  the  street 
that  the  Robin  Redbreast  Club  will  keep  him 
in  office  out  of  respect  for  his  luck.  He  has 
always  been  a  reckless  but  endlessly  success 
ful  trick  flyer.  So  by  midnight  Jim  has  won 
the  cheap  rumor  battle  in  the  coffee  houses 
and  Yellow  Dance  Halls  and  drug  stores. 
And  why  not?  Boone  should  be  in  better 
business. 

May  29: — The  town  wakes  up  this  morn 
ing  to  find  the  Snobs  asserting  themselves 
again,  though  now  it  is  the  parents  and  grand- 


166  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

parents  that  are  more  at  fault,  not  the  high 
school  aviators.  The  families  on  the  list  Boone 
has  published,  along  with  their  sympathizers, 
have  in  the  night  put  gold-foil  on  conspicuous 
portions  of  the  cupolas  of  their  cottage  roofs 
or  the  roofs  of  their  club  houses. 

May  30: — There  is  a  scandal  in  the  Micro 
scope  and  Telescope  Factory.  Old  Montague 
Bock  is  one  of  the  chief  men  of  the  fac 
tory.  Patricia  Anthony,  the  Proud,  is  leading 
a  strike  against  him  because  of  a  certain  con 
tract,  which  he  long  ago  secured,  for  lenses 
which  have  been  delivered  for  over  a  year  in 
a  steady  stream  to  a  firm  on  the  western 
coast.  It  now  transpires  that  these  people 
were  agents  for  the  Singaporian  Government 
and  Patricia  Anthony  is  morally  certain, 
Singapore  is  using  these  lenses  in  the  new 
mysterious  war  machine  which  is  a  step  be 
yond  the  lens  gun.  The  Singaporians  are 
presumed  to  be  laying  up  these  machines 
already,  for  the  day  of  Singaporian  rebellion, 
against  the  World  Government. 

Old  Montague  Rock  has  always  had  an  ir 
ritating  style  of  address  and  he  has  made  a 
speech  to  the  strikers  in  a  fashion  that  has 
not  helped  toward  peace  one  little  bit.  He  has 
said  this  very  morning  that  the  Singaporians 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  167 

are  the  souls  of  honor  and  most  admirable, 
aside  from  their  religion,  with  which,  of 
course,  he  has  nothing  to  do.  And  that  they 
are  the  height  of  Asiatic  aristocracy  at  all 
times.  He  has  said  our  city  should  be  flattered 
to  furnish  them  with  lenses  for  guns  for  local 
police  work  in  Asia.  And  so  he  continues  to 
paraphrase  his  speech  in  conversations  with 
reporters  at  Fifth  and  Monroe  and  in  Coe's 
Book  Store,  and  wherever  he  meets  his 
friends  and  enemies,  through  the  whole  after 
noon. 

So  The  Bo  one  Ax  advocates  a  strikers'  pa 
rade  for  tomorrow  afternoon  and  Boone 
strains  his  whole  credit  and  prestige  in  the 
city  to  make  it  a  success.  Those  societies,  etc. 
that  are  to  be  the  principal  decorative  features 
are  listed,  in  this  afternoon's  papers,  and  the 
line  of  march  is  printed.  They  are  to  assem 
ble  on  Second  and  Monroe,  near  the  old  arse 
nal,  and  march  south  on  Second  to  Capital 
Avenue,  east  on  Capital  Avenue  to  Fifth, 
north  on  Fifth  to  Monroe,  east  on  Monroe  to 
Sixth,  etc. 

May  31 : — The  Anti  King  Coal  Parade  goes 
by  this  afternoon  with  many  surprises,  not 
in  the  official  list  of  splendors.  The  event  was 
scheduled  to  be  called:  "The  Parade  of  the 


168  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Striking  Lens  Factory "  but  Montague  Rock 
being  often  called  King  Coal,  the  other  title 
gets  into  the  headlines. 

First,  between  girls  on  horseback,  carrying 
the  Star  Spangled  Banner  and  the  Interna 
tional  flag,  rides  Patricia  Anthony,  fore 
woman  of  the  lens  factory,  and,  after  her, 
march  or  ride  the  strikers,  in  all  possible  glit 
tering  and  glassy  spangles,  to  show  their 
trade  and  their  gaiety.  And  then  comes  King 
Coal  in  chains.  He  is  presumed  to  be  an  ex 
cellent  portrait  of  the  head  of  the  Rock 
family.  He  is  built  of  actual  coal,  in  parts, 
and  black  pasteboard  also.  Elegant  minions 
of  King  Coal  are  impersonated  by  masked 
people,  in  caricatures  of  the  fastidious  Singa- 
porian  costume,  and  they  wear  light  chains 
that,  nevertheless,  hold  them  in  leash  to  the 
great  image. 

Everyone  jeers  with  emphasis  when  King 
Coal  goes  by,  and  many  people  on  the  street 
sing  and  shout:— " The  Song  for  All  Strik 
ers"  composed  by  Portia,  the  Singing  Avi 
ator,  for  this  especial  parade. 

There  is  an  interminable  miscellany  of 
floats,  reiterating  with  less  and  less  force, 
the  general  theme  of  the  occasion,  and  I  am 
about  tired  out.  Then  Avanel  comes  by  at  the 
head  of  her  Amazons  and  Michaelites,  all  rid- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPMNGFIELD  169 

ing  milk  white  ponies,  It  is  the  first  time  I 
have  seen  Avanel  in  command,  and  Boone  did 
not  mention  this  cavalcade  in  his  paper. 
Indeed,  it  is  remarked  upon  as  a  most 
arbitrary  use  of  military  forces  that  are 
accepted  by  the  International  Government. 
Avanel  is  every  inch  the  commander  and, 
for  all  she  is  so  slender  and  young,  looks 
the  immortal,  Athena,  leading  forth  her 
city.  There  must  be  something,  not  rumored 
in.  the  coffee  houses,  or  this  demonstra 
tion  in  force  would  not  be  permitted  this  mile 
of  riders.  Their  faces  are  not  masked  as  were 
those  of  the  ancient  Ku  Klux  Klan  but  the 
costume  is,  indeed,  as  singular.  It  is,  for  both 
the  men  and  the  women,  in  the  pattern  of  the 
old  hunter  and  trapper  outfit  of  coonskin  cap 
and  fringed  shirt,  jacket,  leggins  and  moc 
casins.  But  it  is  all  white  leather,  with 
touches  of  long  white  fur.  The  girl's  cos 
tumes  are  cut  a  bit  like  the  conventional  rid 
ing  habit.  The  dazzling  whiteness  would  not 
have  been  possible  before  the  days  of  smoke 
consumers  and  dustless  streets.  I  behold  an 
avalanche  of  thundering  snow. 

It  is  late  in  the  evening,  and  I  am  helping 
the  tired  Avanel  dismount  from  her  pony. 
Then  we  sit  together  by  her  unlit  fireplace. 
She  has  put  the  hunting  knife  and  the  sword 


170  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

back  on  the  mantle  and  they  seem  but  family 
relics,  and  the  parade  seems  but  a  tale  she  has 
told  me,  and  her  horse  but  a  thought  that  she 
rode  today.  I  walk  home  through  the  mid 
night,  under  newly  blossoming  trees.  The 
rich  and  heavy  perfume  of  the  Apple-Ama 
ranth  flowers,  that  are  looming  delicately 
against  the  moon,  sweeps  around  me.  It  is 
as  though  every  cluster  were  a  censer  from 
heaven,  devised  by  a  lazy  and  luxurious 
angel. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MATTERS     TOUCHING     ST.     FRIEND,     THE     GIVER     OF 
BREAD,  AND  HIS   ORDER   OF  THE   STRICT   OBSERV 
ANCE  AND   HIS   ORDER   OF  THE   LIBERAL 
OBSERVANCE. 

June  1,  2018:— In  the  capital  of  Illinois,  in 
this  year  of  grace,  St.  Friend  is  a  healer  of 
the  body  and  soul.  He  is  more  of  a  philos 
opher  than  the  fuming  Black  Hawk  Boone, 
that  is,  he  has  a  cooler  disposition.  Yet  Boone 
heals  by  hard  maxims,  given  with  that  lovely 
fruit,  the  Amaranth-Apple.  St.  Friend  heals 
by  sermons  and  prayers  and  the  pictured 
parables,  the  rituals  envisaged  and  illumi 
nated  in  the  celobration  of  the  Office  of  the 
Blessed  Bread. 

The  real  name  of  our  saint,  which  no  one 
ever  hears,  is  Hugh  Adams  Matheney.  He  is, 
away  and  beyond,  the  oldest  of  the  Board  of 
Education  or  of  any  of  the  leaders  of  the  city. 
He  has  little  fire  in  his  blood,  but  has  still  the 
greatest  reserve  battery  of  nervous  force.  He 
was,  even  as  a  little  boy,  a  protege  and 
disciple  of  St.  Scribe  of  the  Shrines,  who  was 
then  in  the  height  of  his  glory  as  a  leader  of 

171 


172  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

our  town.  He  preceded  St.  Friend  as  the  domi 
nating  figure  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Paul  and  handed  down  to  him  and  to  the 
whole  city  the  old  doctrine,  with  a  new  em 
phasis,  that  the  whole  human  race  is  the  mys 
tical  body  of  Christ,  soon  to  be  raised  from 
the  dead.  On  his  mother's  side  St.  Friend  is  a 
descendant  of  a  long  line  of  members  of  the 
Church  of  the  Disciples.  On  his  father's  side 
his  ancestors  are  notable  in  several  lines, 
for  instance,  the  Matheneys  of  Springfield. 
The  original  Matheneys  put  up  one  of  the 
first  three  settlers'  log  cabins  ever  erected  in 
this  county.  The  Adams  strain  is  from  New 
Harmony,  Indiana.  There  they  were  bakers 
for  several  generations.  The  cottage  of  St. 
Friend  has  his  baker's  coat  of  arms  painted 
over  the  little  front  door,  over  the  tremendous 
open  fireplace,  and  in  the  little  dining  room. 
On  one  slender  pole,  in  front  of  his  cottage, 
all  of  his  family  flags  are  flying.  The  most  im 
portant  of  the  flags,  in  the  estimation  of  St. 
Friend,  is  that  of  the  clan  of  these  same 
Adams  people  from  New  Harmony. 

St.  Friend  is  the  last  of  his  actual  clan  to  be 
a  baker,  though  the  town  is  full  of  his  first 
and  second  cousins; — and  third  cousins,  in 
deed,  that  claim  him  proudly.  He  has  adopted 
a  son,  an  orphan  boy,  early  apprenticed  to 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  173 

his  flour  barrels  by  the  school  authorities,  a 
boy  of  Thibetan  ancestry  and  one  of  a  small 
local  group  of  Thibetans.  He  is  now  grown. 
Except  for  ceremonial  occasions  he  has  long 
graduated  from  baking.  He  is  occupied  in 
designing  more  exquisite  and  slender  sunset 
towers,  of  the  school  of  Louis  H.  Sullivan  and 
Frank  Lloyd  Wright,  to  add  one  more  circle 
to  the  outer  ring,  when  purple  cottages  and 
old  buildings  have  been  sufficiently  cleared 
away.  He  is  known  as  the  "  young  St.  Friend  " 
or  the  "Thibetan  boy." 

When  I  have  passed  him  on  the  street,  I  have 
observed  him  muttering  to  himself  or  occa 
sionally  walking  and  arguing  with  the  other 
Thibetans.  He  looks  every  inch  the  stranger, 
with  square  face  and  almond  eyes,  and  skin 
brickdust  red,  with  heavy  bronze  beneath  it. 

The  sister  of  St.  Friend,  living  in  the  same 
cottage,  a  mild,  ghostly  creature,  creeping 
about,  is  more  than  a  centenarian.  She  re 
members  the  celebration  of  Armistice  Day, 
November  11,  1918.  She  was  then  a  baby  in 
her  father's  arms,  and  held  out  her  hands  to 
catch  the  falling  showers  of  confetti  thrown 
from  the  high  buildings.  She  thought  it  was 
snow. 

St.  Friend  graduated  from  the  Hay-Ed 
wards  school.  He  went  through  one  of  Spring- 


174  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

field's  High  Schools.  He  continued  on  for 
a  while  through  the  Municipal  University  of 
the  town.  He  attended  a  college  of  his  faith 
at  Washington,  D.  C.  He  then  became  a  novice 
of  the  order  of  St.  Scribe  of  the  Shrines  and 
took  that  discipline  as  literally  as  possible. 

St.  Friend  is  a  close  correspondent  of  the 
hundred  radical  bishops  who  are,  often  in 
remoter  fashion,  followers  of  St.  Scribe  of 
the  Shrines,  while  at  the  same  time  they  are 
conserving  the  results  of  the  Church  Revolu 
tion.  Two  of  these  bishops,  the  present  lead 
ers  of  the  order,  were  young  pilgrims  with 
him  when  he  made  the  journey  commanded 
by  St.  Scribe,  the  pilgrimage  around  the 
world  to  the  one  hundred  shrines  of  the  one 
hundred  religions,  beginning  with  the  Tomb 
of  Lincoln.  The  boy  returned  while  St.  Scribe 
was  still  in  his  prime  and  a  rousing,  domi 
nating  figure  in  the  city.  The  boy  became  the 
private  secretary  of  the  Saint.  When  the 
saint  was  an  old  man,  the  disciple  was  his  con 
fidential  adviser  and  finally,  when  the  great 
man  departed  this  life,  the  office  of  leading 
the  Cathedral  flock  naturally  devolved  upon 
the  disciple.  It  was  about  this  time  that  the 
rumor  began  to  move  among  the  people  that 
the  departed  St.  Scribe  was  once  Hunter 
Kelly  and  it  slowly  became  the  fashion,  with 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  175 

some  of  the  more  fanciful  citizens,  to  speak  of 
Hunter  Kelly-St.  Scribe  as  though  they  were 
one  guardian  spirit.  St.  Friend  was  offered 
the  headship  of  the  order  of  St.  Scribe  but  he 
refused  it  and,  without  abandoning  his  place 
and  the  prescribed  forms  and  prayers  of  this 
discipline,  he  set  up  quite  a  separate  order  of 
his  own,  the  Order  of  the  Blessed  Bread  of  the 
Strict  Observance,  and  today  he  has  pro 
claimed  from  the  Cathedral  pulpit  the  setting 
up  of  a  more  popular  order,  of  the  more 
liberal  observance,  and  though  there  is  much 
not  yet  cleared  up  by  the  sermon,  Avanel  is 
resolved  to  join,  if  possible,  and  recruit  me,  if 
it  may  be  done. 

This  is  the  history  of  The  Order  of  The 
Strict  Observance :  —  For  many  years  St. 
Friend  has  given  himself,  in  true  devotion,  as 
a  member  of  the  Springfield  Associated  Chari 
ties,  to  provide  for  the  handful  of  defectives, 
drug  fiends,  and  those  outlaws  who  are  now 
classed  with  them  by  common  consent: — the 
unskilled  laborers.  St.  Friend  finds  in  his 
heart  a  great  Franciscan  pity  for  them.  He 
finds  there  a  sharp  social  rebellion  that  there 
should  be  any  outlaws  or  helpless  ones  what 
ever.  So  he  has  become,  by  acclamation,  the 
perpetual  head  of  the  Associated  Charities, 
and  these  feverish  wanton  ones  have  been 


176  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

cheerfully  left  to  his  over-solicitude.  The 
entire  contingent  of  the  socially  crippled  cuts 
as  small  a  figure  on  the  general  horizon  of  the 
city  as  did  the  group  of  the  professional  pau 
pers  in  the  days  when  blind  men  turned  hand 
organs.  The  educational  machinery  is  such 
that  within  the  double  city  walls,  built  long 
ago  by  Ralph  Adams  Cram,  the  so-called  "ex 
ploited"  have  long  been  kept  out.  People  in 
general  are  well-fed,  super-skilled  laborers. 
And  they  have  about  all  the  carnal  bread  and 
all  the  carnal  circuses  they  can  well  digest. 

But  St.  Friend,  who  in  his  youth  wept  for 
every  fallen  sparrow  till  he  could  weep  no 
more,  has  long  maintained  his  Order  of  the 
Blessed  Bread  of  the  Strict  Observance  for 
those  left  behind  in  the  race,  generally  degen 
erate  sons  and  daughters  of  old  settlers.  The 
order  is  properly  called  the  ' l  Brotherhood  of 
the  Blessed  Bread. ' '  Those  who  join  eat  of  a 
bread  baked  from  a  special  Sangamon  County 
wheat,  planted  between  the  inner  and  the 
outer  wall  by  some  of  the  various  sects  of  the 
Flower  Religion  and  the  Park  Religion.  St. 
Friend  cares  not  what  sect  plants  the  wheat, 
so  it  be  planted  by  those  who  believe  in  de 
mocracy  and  prayer. 

After  due  vigil,  the  bread  is  skilfully  baked 
by  the  Thibetan  boy,  or  other  chosen  members 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  177 

of  the  society.  Those  who  eat  of  it  are  ex 
horted,  but  not  commanded,  to  take  the  oath 
before  John  Boat,  for  the  bread,  till  now,  has 
been  primarily  intended  for  the  Brotherhood 
of  the  Strict  Observance. 

This  oath  before  John  Boat  or  other  co 
operating  justice  of  the  peace  is  printed  in 
the  little  book  of  devotion  that  goes  with  the 
Strict  Observance.  The  book  and  oath  are  in 
tended  for  the  most  hopeless  derelicts  only. 
Presumably  the  bread  is  eaten  for  the  first 
time  by  these,  after  the  oath  is  administered. 

The  gray-headed  old  justice  of  the  peace 
furnished  the  idea  himself,  when  he  and  St. 
Friend  were  young  men,  and  St.  Friend  kept 
the  copy  of  the  oath  and  brooded  upon  it  long 
before  he  felt  it  politic  to  found  the  order. 
John  Boat  had  observed,  in  his  experience  as 
a  notary,  that  men,  who  seem  but  animated 
putrescence,  still  regard  their  sworn  word  in 
court.  It  is  the  last  chance  to  put  iron  into 
them.  This  thought  in  mind,  the  oath  is  ad 
ministered  with  the  solemnity  that  went  into 
the  old  monastic  vows.  From  the  many  who 
have  been  given  life  by  the  oath,  St.  Friend 
has  taken  great  assurance  that  he  is  on  the 
road  to  a  tremendous  social  amelioration. 

June  2: — Because  Avanel  and  I  have  de 
cided  to  join  the  more  liberal  observance  of 


178  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

the  Order  of  the  Blessed  Bread,  though  we, 
as  yet,  know  little  about  it,  she  is  eager  to 
show  to  me  the  occasion  of  the  administering 
of  the  oath  of  the  Strict  Observance.  This 
Monday  morning  we  are  taking  the  back 
bench  in  the  shadowy  corner  of  the  justice 
court  to  watch  the  older  ceremonial.  Now 
most  oaths  in  court  are  rattled  off  like  parrot 
words,  but  to  John  Boat  this  is  an  occasion 
when  he  is  a  priest  after  the  order  of  Mel- 
chizedek.  He  gives  a  seeming  dignity  to  the 
most  carping  and  exacting  demand  of  the 
pledge,  reading  it  line  upon  line.  Blue-faced 
Surto  Hurdenburg,  the  derelict,  echoes  him 
with  full  and  honest  intent,  repeating  every 
line  after  the  learned  court  with  great  respect 
and  devotion. 

This  is  the  text  of  the  pledge : — 

State  of  Illinois 

City  of  Springfield, 
June  2,  2018. 

I,  Surto  Hurdenburg,  accepting  the  lord 
ship  of  Christ,  do  solemnly  swear,  by  the  ever- 
living  God,  that  from  this  time  henceforth 
I  will  support  the  Constitution  of  the  World 
Government,  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  the  Laws  of  Illinois,  the  Ordinances 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  179 

of  Springfield,  that  I  will  faithfully  observe 
and  keep  inviolate  the  moral  laws  of  the  com 
munity;  that  I  will  carefully  and  faithfully 
observe  my  duty  to  my  neighbor,  recognizing 
his  rights  at  all  times ;  that  I  will  endeavor  to 
become  an  expert  workman  and  member  of  a 
guild ;  that  I  will  faithfully,  honestly  and  con 
scientiously  exercise  my  rights  of  franchise 
as  a  member  of  my  guild  and  a  citizen  of  the 
community,  with  a  firm  determination  to 
bring  about  the  best  results  for  clean  and 
honest  government,  and  that  I  will  devote  as 
much  strength  as  possible  to  the  study  of 
civic  reform,  examining  at  all  times  the  opin 
ions  of  clean-minded  radical  citizens  and  act 
ing  on  them  according  to  the  dictates  of  my 
conscience.  I  specifically  promise  to  abstain 
from  motion-picture  shows,  yellow  dance 
halls,  bad  women,  alcoholic  liquors  and  nar 
cotics,  and  to  denounce  and  work  against  in 
every  way  possible  the  traffic  in  Singaporian 
cocaine. 

Further  and  finally,  I  promise  to  eat  the 
Blessed  Bread  of  this  Order  of  the  Strict  Ob 
servance,  according  to  the  manner  and  at  the 
times  laid  down  in  the  Book  of  Devotion,  and 
to  follow  the  discipline  for  body  and  soul 
there  prescribed  and  imposed  for  the  good  of 


180  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

the  order  and  the  health  and  well-being  of 
my  city. 

(Signed)  Surto  Hurdenburg. 

Subscribed  and  sworn  to  before  me  this 
Second  Day  of  June,  2018. 
(Seal)  John  Boat 
Notary  Public. 

I  conclude  that,  in  the  light  of  Springfield 
life  as  I  have  seen  it  these  strange  days,  it  will 
be  easier  for  such  as  Surto  Hurdenburg  to 
keep  the  more  literal  specifications  of  the 
pledge,  such  as  the  ban  on  motion  pictures, 
than  to  enter  into  the  deep  mazes  of  citizen 
ship  with  judgment.  He  will  keep  close  to 
St.  Friend  and  the  order,  who  hate  the  films, 
and  thereby  be  able  to  let  the  films  alone. 
Most  photoplays  outside  of  the  educational 
buildings  or  beyond  the  immediate  jurisdic 
tion  of  the  World 's  Fair  authorities  are  shown 
on  the  right  or  left  of  the  sauntering  corridors 
opening  on  the  Yellow  Dance  Halls  on  the 
same  floors.  Here  half -hour  lengths  of  film  are 
run  through,  when  the  crowd  sweeps  in  to 
rest.  The  merits  of  the  exceedingly  artistic 
studio  and  theatre,  called  "The  Egyptian 
Photoplay  Association/'  headed  by  Gwen 
dolyn  Charles  and  Rabbi  Terence  Ezekiel  re 
main  unappreciated  by  St.  Friend  and  the 
members  of  the  Order  of  the  Strict  Observ- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  181 

ance.  This  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  Photo 
play  Association  in  question  now  has  in 
charge  most  of  those  exquisite  and  unim 
peachable  film  theatres  of  the  University 
World's  Fair  and  several  other  worthwhile 
film-theatre  circuits  in  Central  Illinois.  "The 
Egyptian  Photoplay  Association"  will  rent 
slightly  worn  films  to  Yellow  Dance  Halls, 
after  first  runs  in  these  others,  and  thereby 
make  the  films  in  the  eyes  of  the  Order  of  the 
Strict  Observance,  mere  devil's  nets  for  fish. 

So,  though  the  highly  esteemed  Rabbi  Ter 
ence  Ezekiel  tries  to  act  as  mediator,  there  is 
eternal  war  between  the  fiery  Gwendolyn 
Charles  and  this  saint. 

For  a  long  time  back  truly  aesthetic  and 
truly  educational  motion  pictures  have  been 
shown  in  the  school  and  University  class 
rooms.  Many  of  them  are  scientific  and  his 
torical  records  and  renderings.  In  the  odd 
hours  of  loafing  through  these  three  months 
I  have  noted  many  of  them  as  of  the  best 
gifts  of  the  new  time.  But  our  stubborn 
St.  Friend,  as  a  member  of  the  school  board, 
generally  votes  against  them,  and  in  solitary 
grandeur.  While  at  one  with  the  general  poli 
cies  of  the  educational  system,  he  makes  many 
a  speech  before  the  members  for  the  restora 
tion  of  the  regime  of  the  book  and  the  black 
board.  He  truly  says  that  these  are  now  al- 


182  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

most  abolished  in  the  presence  of  the  protean 
triumphant  films,  of  the  street  pageantry,  the 
training  of  skilled  labor  in  the  high  schools, 
of  the  oral,  the  phonographic,  telegraphic  and 
telephone  methods,  applied  to  all  forms  of 
teaching.  And  only  last  week  he  met  what 
appeared  to  be  his  Waterloo  when  it  was 
voted  to  extend  and  enlarge  the  entirely  re 
spectable,  if  a  little  frigid,  university  dance 
halls  and  to  include  motion  picture  loafing 
rooms,  the  better  to  run  competition  with  the 
Yellow  Halls. 

Some  of  these  things  I  go  over  with  Avanel, 
as  we  walk  home  from  witnessing  Surto  Hur- 
denburg's  oath,  and  we  wonder  just  what  of 
the  forbidden  things,  besides  motion  pictures, 
St.  Friend  will  include  in  his  pledge  for  the 
Liberal  Observance.  Avanel  says:  "I  admit 
that  the  men  who  are  sworn  in,  like  this  Surto 
Hurdenburg,  are  apt  to  become  useful,  if  fa 
natical,  citizens.  Their  poor  strength  must  be 
economized  in  narrow  channels  if  it  is  to 
last  and  be  recuperated.  But  if  St.  Friend 
tries  to  put  such  a  set  of  chains  on  me  I  will 
not  speak  to  him  for  a  month. ' ' 

Saturday,  June  7: — St.  Friend  has  today 
given  it  out  by  word  of  mouth  and  by  edi 
torials  in  the  five  papers  that  the  whole  world 
is  welcome  to  his  bread.  The  Order  of  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  183 

Liberal  Observance  is  already  more  popularly 
called  by  the  alternate  descriptive  title : ' t  The 
Citizens  in  the  Communion  of  the  Blessed 
Bread. ' '  There  is  no  oath ;  even  a  Quaker  may 
join. 

Sunday,  June  8: — It  is  the  warmest  morn 
ing  of  the  year,  so  far,  in  an  exceedingly  back 
ward  summer.  It  is  the  first  real  June 
weather,  and  all  the  people  rejoice  in  it. 
Avanel  walks  to  church  in  the  most  wonderful 
of  white  airy  dresses.  And  in  these  vacuum- 
cleaned  streets,  with  no  soot  and  no  coal  dust 
and  no  factory  grime,  people,  working  or 
playing,  can  be  dressed  all  day  as  for  a  party 
if  they  choose. 

All  day  yesterday  couriers  of  all  faiths, 
representing  St.  Friend 's  personal  rather  than 
his  religious  companions,  have  been  out  invi 
ting  the  people.  At  least  one  member  of  each 
family  has  been  asked  to  bring  his  tribe  to 
the  Cathedral  green  and  to  listen  and  carry 
the  message  back  with  the  bread. 

Avanel  and  I  are  early  for  Church  and  so 
we  make  a  circuit,  enjoying  the  airy  splen 
dors  of  the  crowd.  And  we  go  around  by  St. 
John's  Hospital,  so  lately  rebuilt  by  the  in 
sistence  of  Mayo  Sims,  to  vindicate  his  scien 
tific  zeal,  and  they  say  it  is  a  splendid  scien 
tific  monument  to  any  man.  It  is  east  of  the 


184  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Cathedral  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  as  it  has 
been  for  over  four  generations.  And  the  her 
etic  synagogue  and  the  school  for  teaching 
Hebrew,  conducted  by  Rabbi  Terence  Ezekiel, 
are  on  the  sites  where  the  two  orthodox  syna 
gogues  were,  one  hundred  years  ago. 

The  green  in  front  of  the  Cathedral  was 
enclosed  by  a  beautiful  Gothic  wall  long  ago, 
at  the  same  time  the  devout  congregation 
rebuilt  the  church.  The  enclosure  is  rapidly 
filling  with  people.  St.  Friend  is  to  speak  to 
the  whole  city  from  the  Cathedral  steps. 

Piled  on  great  wooden  trays  on  the  side  of 
the  Cathedral  steps  are  the  splendid  brown 
loaves,  put  there  for  all  the  world  by  the 
Brotherhood  of  the  Strict  Observance,  who 
are  about  in  their  almost  monkish  official 
robes,  proud  indeed  to  be  so  prominent. 

Blue-faced  Surto  Hurdenburg,  so  lately 
sworn  in,  is  an  ex-headwaiter  of  alleged  New 
York  hotel  training  and  he  is  now  to  prove 
his  mettle.  He  is  about  his  task  decorously 
and  swiftly  enough,  for  those  seated  and  set 
tled  already  have  the  tissue-wrapped  loaves 
in  their  laps,  and  all  through  the  sermon,  as 
fast  as  our  citizens  are  settled,  they  are  given 
their  loaves  without  a  sound  or  a  grimace,  and 
Hurdenburg,  the  efficient,  rises  high  at  once  in 
the  estimation  of  the  children  of  light. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  185 

But  now  the  saint  rises  to  speak.  He  is 
indeed  a  figure;  his  white  hair  gleams  in  the 
June  morning  air.  His  face  is  the  face  of  Lin 
coln,  grown  old,  with  a  touch  of  St.  Francis 
eternally  young..  He  straightens  to  his  full 
height.  He  is  fifty  years  younger.  He  is  one 
of  those  capable  of  seeming  collapse  for 
weeks,  when  it  is  but  the  storage  time,  and 
then  the  lightning  is  discharged  in  one  tre 
mendous  hour. 

There  is  a  certain  vast  medieval  humor 
about  him.  He  is  vested  in  his  ceremonial  bak 
ing  apron  and  Avanel  giggles  till  he  actually 
begins  to  speak.  This  is  the  end  of  his 
sermon: — 

i  l  Pray  consider  that,  in  your  freedom  from 
vows  this  splendid  June  day,  you  are  never 
theless  dubbed  knights,  my  fellow  citizens.  In 
medieval  times  monks  and  knights  served  the 
Church  with  the  same  divine  vocation  and 
devotion. 

"The  Church  of  Springfield  has  come.  It 
is  the  sunlit  grass  of  this  park;  it  is  this  Illi 
nois  sky.  Under  the  roof  of  this  Cathedral 
behind  me  and  of  all  the  churches,  temples, 
and  synagogues  of  this  town,  its  primer  work 
has  been  done  and  will  be  done.  It  will  begin 
with  sheltered  faiths  and  will  not  contradict 
or  undermine  any. 


186  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

"It  seems  that  we  must  periodically  sing 
hymns  and  look  ac  the  little  jeweled  holy 
things  and  read  the  precious  little  books,  or 
we  cannot  go  on  and  out  and  up.  There  was 
only  one  Johnny  Appleseed  in  the  history  of 
mankind.  His  image  is  in  our  Cathedral,  but 
even  he  read  Swedenborg  and  clung  to  that 
system.  Yet  sooner  or  later,  like  that  great 
saint  Johnny  Appleseed,  we  awaken  to  our 
great  outdoors,  and  all  the  visions  there. 

"All  Holy  worship,  learned,  as  when  John 
ny  Appleseed  walked  the  highroad,  or  the 
primer  lesson  when  he  first  read  Swedenborg 
beneath  his  boyhood  roof,  makes  over  the 
mere  bread  of  comradeship  into  this  blessed 
bread  which  will  heal  our  shameful  diseases 
of  body  and  of  soul. 

"Share  it,  share  it!  When  we  have  shared 
the  blessed  bread,  communing  like  true 
friends,  the  beauty  of  all  Heaven,  the  sea  in 
which  we  move  that  is  above  all  and  through 
all  and  in  all,  will  gild  more  perfectly  the 
Springfield  daily  grind  and  the  Springfield 
sabbath.  The  devout  convert  and  his  child 
and  his  grandchild  will  build  his  house  as 
beautifully  as  our  Sacred  Apple  Tree  is  made, 
as  righteously  as  the  Sacred  Oak  Tree,  as 
democratically  as  the  Golden  Eain  Tree, 
which  spreads  its  branches  like  a  gate  for 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  187 

all  of  us  to  pass  through  in  equality.  The  de 
vout  convert  will  build  such  architecture  as 
glitters  in  the  songs  and  books  of  devotion  of 
St.  Scribe. 

' '  The  voices  of  the  children  will  be  as  noble 
as  the  discourses  of  the  prairie  winds  that 
catch  our  tree  boughs  at  sunset.  Every  house 
will  be  as  delicate  and  subtle  as  the  ferny 
hollows  of  the  Sangamon.  The  convert  will 
name  many  birds  that  will  come  at  his  call 
and  he  will  feed  them  crumbs  of  this  Blessed 
Bread  in  friendship. 

"When  Springfield  has  partaken  of  this 
manna  for  a  generation,  all  things  will  be 
come  new.  Leavening  thoughts  will  come 
from  all  the  street  corners.  Novel  fancies  will 
come  from  the  coffee  houses.  The  conferences 
and  colloquies  of  fallible  men  will  take  on 
something  of  the  aspect  of  the  meetings  of 
the  inspired  souls  of  Heaven. 

"We  walk  our  plain  path!  We  eat  our  plain 
bread  in  a  rare  fellowship!  Therefore  all 
things  become  eternal.  The  Church  of  Spring 
field,  the  church  of  this  sunlit  grass,  the 
church  of  a  million  days  and  nights,  is  pro 
claimed  from  the  steps  of  this  Cathedral  of 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  this  day." 

And  now  Avanel  comments : — ' '  If  you  look 
deeply  into  the  aphorisms  my  father  serves 


188  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

with  his  apples  and  with  his  paper  money 
theory,  you  will  fin3,  though  he  is  no  atheist 
or  mocker,  he  is  a  son  of  the  narrow,  dry  an 
tagonisms  of  some  of  the  village  atheist  stock 
with  which  our  blood  mingled  during  our  so 
journ  in  Egypt.  I  glory  in  my  Indian  ancestry, 
even  if  I  do  not  make  myself  conspicuous 
with  my  hair  loose  and  my  left  hand  crimson. 
But  as  to  my  father 's  village-infidel  streak, 
I  have  no  use  for  it.  Moreover,  I  heard  him 
ding  dong  his  doctrines  in  my  childhood  at 
times  when  he  was  not  at  his  best.  I  know 
better  how  to  take  St.  Friend.  Both  are  nar 
row  as  mousetraps  on  their  literal  side,  if  one 
has  a  turn  for  being  caught. 

"I  think  I  choose  St.  Friend  for  my  guide, 
because  he  begins  and  ends  with  prayer.  I  do 
not  stay  away  from  motion  pictures,  as  he 
commands,  nor  from  the  Yellow  Dance  Halls, 
as  he  and  my  father  both  command.  But  I 
distrust  these  places,  because  of  the  warnings 
of  these  good  men.  I  will  eat  this  bread,  you 
and  I  will  eat  it  together,  though  I  know  it  is 
railed  at  in  the  Yellow  Dance  Halls,  and  I 
know  the  keen  things  that  are  said  there 
against  such  superstitions.  We  will  continue 
to  eat  together  the  Amaranth-Apples  that  are 
tabooed  there.  We  will  read  together  the  prov 
erbs  and  songs  and  prayers  of  St.  Scribe  and, 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  1»9 

while  our  feet  may  be  in  the  Yellow  Halls, 
our  souls  will  be  making  the  pilgrimage  of 
the  one  hundred  religions.  We  will  be  think 
ing  together  how  the  whole  human  race  is  the 
body  of  Christ,  soon  to  be  raised  from  the 
dead." 

And  so  this  evening  Avanel  invites  me  to 
her  own  select  table  in  the  inn  at  the  top  of 
one  of  the  great  northwest  gates,  the  inner 
gate,  that  overlooks  the  former  village  of 
Ashland,  Cass  County,  and  is  one  of  the 
chief  glories  of  the  Inner  Wall.  It  is 
the  Musicians'  Building  and  from  here 
oftener  than  anywhere  else  on  this  wall, 
sound  the  special  evening  hymns  and  organ 
solos  and  chimes,  over  this  whole  segment  of 
the  city  and  over  the  forest  parks  to  the  north, 
between  the  walls.  Pilgrims  pass  through  the 
gate  beneath  us.  They  have  visited,  accord 
ing  to  the  ritual,  Lincoln's  monument,  the 
First  Shrine  of  St.  Scribe— Hunter-Kelly,  and 
they  are  hurrying  along  his  great  highway 
leading  northwest  through  the  Gate  of  the 
'Outer  Wall,  that  overlooks  the  former  village 
of  Virginia  in  old  Cass  County. 

Our  refractory  is  called:— The  Pilgrim's 
First  Inn.  It  is  on  the  cafeteria  principle  but 
is  a  most  spacious  place,  being  the  whole  floor 
of  the  tower,  with  tremendous  sheets  of  glass 


190  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

for  windows,  so  that  an  aviator,  circling  it, 
can  see  straight  through  it  from  every  angle, 
and  all  the  colored  and  decorative  search 
lights  of  this  happy  June  evening  sweep 
through  it  as  the  twilight  comes  on,  lights  for 
the  most  part  of  the  delicate  tints  of  the 
'towers: — more  like  rapid  clouds,  left  over 
from  the  sunset,  than  sharp,  searching, 
swords. 

So  Avanel  and  I  find  our  table,  in  proper 
chatting  distance  from  several  others,  some 
of  whom  have  also  brought  their  brown 
loaf.  And  we  carry  from  the  counter  a  few 
things  like  coffee  and  butter  and  Amaranth- 
Apples  and  we  banquet.  She  speaks  more 
lovingly  of  her  father's  many  moods.  She 
divides  the  apples,  uttering  at  the  same  time 
scraps  of  his  philosophy. 

At  last  we  take  the  bread  of  St.  Friend.  It 
is  our  communion  service,  High  Mass  of  com 
radeship. 

Avanel  quotes  from  the  Gospel  of  Luke,— 
from  Luke's  deathless  story  of  the  first  com 
munion. 

^  There  is  a  ringing  of  bells  all  over  the  city, 
silvery  and  sweet,  and  in  every  tower  of  the 
walls:— the  ringing  of  the  star  chimes.  It  is 
a  clear  night.  The  sweeping  colored  lights 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  191 

are  gone.  We  go  to  the  great  expanse  of  win 
dows  and  look  up. 

Avanel  says: — "The  trouble  with  this 
breaking  of  bread  is  that  it  is  a  pledge  to 
break  our  bodies.  I  do  not  want  to  break 
mine  for  a  long  time,  if  ever." 

"Yet,"  I  say,  "You  ride  your  pale  war 
horse."  Avanel,  the  dancer,  replies: — "Let 
us  hope  that  the  war  will  never  come.  Let  us 
hope,  before  the  time  war  is  due,  the  body  of 
Christ,  the  whole  human  race,  will  be  raised 
from  the  dead." 


CHAPTER  XII 

HOW    THROUGH    SERMONS    BY    ST.    FRIEND    AND    BT 
POLITICAL   ACTIVITY,    SUCH   AS    THAT    OF  SURTO 
HURDENBURG,    THE    YELLOW    DANCE   HALLS 
ARE    VOTED    OUT    FOR    GOOD. 

June  9,  2018: — I  have  given  up  art  teach 
ing  in  a  separate  studio  of  my  own  and  have 
been,  for  some  time,  merely  writing  verses 
and  loafing  about  and  peering  into  the  town, 
often  with  old  Sparrow  Short.  This  comes 
about  because  I  have  sent  my  few  pupils  over 
to  him.  He  is  a  most  likable  fellow.  He  puts 
on  no  airs  whatever.  We  find  we  have  a  great 
ocean  of  common  opinions  and  identical  prej 
udices  in  the  field  of  art  and  an  equal  love 
of  feeding  crumbs  to  the  English  sparrows 
and  other  such  birds  and  we  keep  off  ground 
where  we  would  be  hostile  in  argument.  I 
think  I  did  the  town  a  good  turn  when  I  per 
suaded  such  people  as  showed  symptoms  of 
studying  with  me,  to  study  with  him.  In  re 
turn  he  urges  me  to  give  criticisms  in  his  life 
classes  when  I  feel  the  urge  to  impart  to 
youth,  or  when  he  is  out  loafing,  or  helping 

192 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  193 

decorate  some  of  the  newly  revamped  yellow 
halls,  particularly  the  Hall  of  Velaska,  The 
latest  occasion  when  I  took  over  his  place 
came  about  because  he  was  locked  up  for  days 
without  anyone  to  go  his  bail  all  for  al 
leged  treason  to  the  World  Government.  At 
last  Boone  lets  him  out,  by  going  bond,  with 
a  roaring  lecture,  which  is  replied  to  in  kind, 
they  say,  with  no  show  of  gratitude  whatever. 
But  the  privilege  of  being  out  on  bond  is  pre 
carious  and  liable  to  be  withdrawn  to  one 
waiting  trial  for  World  Treason  and  Short 
keeps  me  in  sight  for  emergencies.  Sparrow 
Short  is,  of  course,  passionately  loyal  to  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  and  Washington's 
Farewell  Address  but  that  is  considered  only 
one  half  of  patriotism  and  called  "World- 
Anarchy "  now.  Most  of  the  people  who  study 
under  him  do  not  care  what  his  views  may  be 
on  any  subject  but  art.  He  is  the  best  teacher 
and  that  is  enough  for  them.  And,  as  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  in  expressing  his  international 
views  which  he  does  out  of  teaching  hours, 
he  is  a  roaring  baby  and  unworthy  the  at 
tention  of  grown  up  politicians.  But  I  tell 
him  that  even  grown  ups  in  politics  should 
not  be  too  much  censured  for  misunderstand 
ing  him.  People,  like  Short,  who  fight  for 


194  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

individuality  and  whose  whole  object  as 
teachers  is  to  promote  the  diversity  of  their 
pupils,  cannot  see  why  the  world  cannot  be 
one  great  art  class.  They  are,  indeed,  in 
strong  contrast  with  state  builders,  who  build 
with  men  in  masses  and  blocks. 

This  morning  Short  takes  me  around  to  the 
Hall  of  Velaska,  when  it  is  absolutely  deserted 
except  by  ourselves,  and  shows  me  with  pride 
the  pictures  he  has  given  the  hall.  These  pic 
tures  are  so  set  in  the  walls,  they  seem  painted 
there,  and  the  whole  color  scheme  that  Short 
has  long  planned  holds  them  together.  There 
is  a  defiant  touch  of  Singaporian  green  in  it, 
sometimes  with  the  glisten  of  the  hated  green 
glass,  but  the  place  is  otherwise  in  the  most 
quiet  and  inoffensive  taste. 

The  first  picture  is  the  one  that  he  had  long 
planned  for  the  World's  Fair,  till  it  was  de 
barred  on  account  of  its  subject: — the  por 
trait  of  Mara  of  Singapore,  when  she  was  the 
age  of  Juliet.  Next  is  what  Short  calls  a  Fairy 
Fashionplate,  a  gown  to  be  worn  at  the  fu 
neral  of  an  exceedingly  wealthy  bumblebee. 
If  we  are  to  believe  our  guide,  Mr.  Short,  here 
is  depicted  an  occasion  when  one  must  wear  a 
look  of  grief  and  resignation  and  an  appro 
priate  costume.  Short  explains  that  all  boot- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  195 

licking  fairies  consider1  it  good  form  to  black 
en  the  face  on  such  occasions.  They  will  not 
blacken  their  faces  for  bumblebees  who  are 
poor.  But,  when  a  deal  of  honey  is  left  to  sus 
tain  the  mourners,  it  has  become  a  convenient 
manner  of  expressing  grief  for  the  honey- 
eater  to  steal  an  ink  bottle  off  a  writing  table 
and  spill  the  ink  all  over  one 's  self.  One  looks 
more  crestfallen  than  in  any  conventional 
black.  So  this  fairy  manikin  is  dressed  in 
gray  dove's  feathers  and  ink  poured  on  her 
in  streaks  and  her  little  face  is  all  smudged 
with  it.  Soon  she  will  hurry  home,  take  a  com 
plete  bath,  and  eat  the  honey. 

The  Boy  and  the  Ostrichissimus : — The  Os- 
trichissimus  is  a  bird  about  three  times  the 
size  of  the  ostrich  and  with  ostrich  plumes 
all  over  it,  and  some  of  them  so  long  behind, 
it  has  not  the  insulting  shape  of  the  ostrich. 
A  more  graceful  neck  helps  also.  Its  head  is 
not  so  bald.  The  Ostrichissimus  is  driven  with 
a  silk  cord,  passed  through  the  mouth,  for  a 
bridle.  The  boy  driving  holds  on  tight  with 
both  knees  and  is  a  little  scared  but  enjoying 
himself  immensely.  They  are  hurrying  across 
the  Sahara  desert. 

The  Devil  is  Making  Candy: — Short  ex 
plains  that  this  is  a  picture  with  a  purpose. 


196  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

The  Devil,  in  a  cook's  costume,  is  bending 
over  the  usual  candy  kettle.  Peeping  in  at 
the  door  are  those  that  wait  for  his  candy. 
These  are  the  usual  run  of  sinners,  types  that 
appear  in  sermon  pictures,  the  miser  with  his 
gold  and  the  Magdalene  with  her  painted 
jaws,  etc.  The  devil  looks  exceedingly  sly  but 
Short  explains  that  there  is  nothing  for  him 
to  look  sly  about.  It  is  only  fudge.  The  Devil 
tests  it  by  dipping  in  his  finger,  which,  of 
course,  he  can  do  without  burning  himself, 
"Yet,"  says  Short,  "I  would  not  eat  after 
the  DeviPs  fingers.  Would  you?" 

The  Sewing  Machine  of  Fate: — Fate  is  an 
old  woman  among  the  stars,  big  as  a  sign  of 
the  zodiac.  She  is  crouched  in  a  heap  over  a 
sewing  machine.  It  is  a  little  too  small  for 
her  clumsy  hands  but  she  can  use  it.  Forever 
and  forever,  with  eyes  that  never  lift  from 
the  plunging  needle,  she  bends  over  her  task, 
sending  through  new  cloth  from  the  looms  of 
time.  When  this  cloth  has  passed  under  the 
needle,  it  is  written  with  characters  that  can 
never  be  snipped  out.  This  inscription  is  all 
she  lives  for.  Yet,  like  the  inscriptions  of  the 
temples  of  Yucatan,  it  is  forever  unreadable 
except  to  ghosts,  hobgoblins,  spooks,  and 
such  like  creatures,  with  whom  sensible 
people  have  nothing  to  do. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  197 

There  is  one  great  blank  space  on  the  wall, 
for  the  portrait  of  the  mythical  queen  of  the 
revels  in  this  particular  Yellow  Hall,  Sally 
Mary  Ann  Velaska  Harris,  familiarly  called 
"Velaska." 

Sunday,  June  15: — I  find  myself  this  morn 
ing  in  the  loft  of  the  gigantic  Cathedral  of 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  with  Surto  Hurden- 
burg.  His  face  is  still  painted  blue  by  mother 
nature,  as  a  reminder  of  his  long  struggles 
with  alcohol.  But  there  are  new  unquench 
able  fires  within.  He  looks  like  a  broken  down 
but  repentant  Bill  Sykes.  He  takes  the  ser 
mon  with  great  literalness,  as  I  know,  by  his 
asides  to  me. 

St.  Friend's  voice  is  much  more  quavering 
and  old  than  last  Sunday.  He  is  living  in  the 
reaction  from  that  tremendous  physical  out 
lay.  It  is  as  though  we  were  endowed  with  a 
special  sense  of  hearing  and  were  listening 
from  celestial  parapets  to  the  cry  of  a  sick 
man  on  the  earth. 

Such  is  the  magnificence  and  medievalism 
of  the  old  church,  so  brilliant  are  its  windows, 
so  austere  its  pillars  and  niches  for  the  saints, 
and  the  images  of  those  saints,  that  it  seems 
to  have  been  built  a  thousand  instead  of  a 
hundred  years  ago.  Yet  here  are  not  only 
images  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  but  of  a 


198  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

long  line  of  saints,  as  beautiful  as  America 
itself  all  the  way  to  yesterday.  Here  are 
Saint  Francis  and  Swedenborg,  and  Johnny 
Appleseed  before  whom  candles  are  burn 
ing: — Hunter  Kelly,  in  his  aspect  of  St.  Scribe 
of  the  Shrines,  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
'and  Mary  Baker  Eddy,  and  the  first  Mother 
Grey,  founder  of  the  flower  religion  and 
Jane  Addams  and  that  tremendous  and  di 
vine  jester  and  poet  and  sage,  Abraham  Lin 
coln.  There  are  a  hundred  other  niches  with 
the  American  saints  and  world  saints  and  a 
hundred  others  waiting  for  the  saints  of  to 
morrow. 

But  Surto  Hurdenburg  is  listening  to  the 
sermon.  Here  is  a  fragment  thereof:— 

"The  solution  of  the  problem  of  the  social 
evil  can  be  given  in  four  words:  'THE 
PROUD  CITIZEN  WOMAN.' 

1 l  Springfield  has  no  tenements  but  until  the 
life  of  the  United  States  outside  of  Spring 
field  has  its  larger  hours  of  leisure  and 
more  green  clear  spaces  in  which  to  cultivate 
codes  and  fine  observances  between  boy  and 
girl,  the  custom  of  selling  the  young  girls  to 
the  slaughter  will  leap  over  double  Gothic 
walls  and  invade  those  groves  and  parks  we 
call  'Springfield.'  We  have  the  beginning 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD   199 

of  chivalry  in  many  ways,  such  as  the  public 
school  honor  pageants  and  athletic  honor 
tournaments  and  all  the  fine  codes  of  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  First,  in  connection 
therewith.  We  still  need  more  sense  of  honor, 
honor  beyond  the  point  of  Bayard  and  the 
Cid. 

" There  is  only  one  issue  for  sweethearts: — 
honor  or  dishonor,  citizen  or  slave.  So  it  has 
been  from  the  beginning  of  time,  so  it  will 
continue  till  woman's  redemption  and  com 
plete  emancipation.  The  fantastic  Hindu 
would  die  ten  thousand  deaths  before  he 
would  break  caste. 

"The  stubborn  Mohammedan  or  Jew  will 
yet  be  torn  to  shreds  before  he  will  consent  to 
offer  to  an  idol.  Not  all  the  tides  of  the  world 
cynicism  has  changed  these.  The  Japanese 
would  cut  out  his  tongue  before  he  would 
speak  a  slighting  word  against  the  flag  or 
honor  of  Japan  or  do  a  work  in  her  despite. 
Are  these  people  to  be  mocked  for  having  a 
code? 

"By  standing  by  those  Don  Quixotic  notions 
they  prove  they  are  men,  not  cattle.  America, 
led  by  such  orchard  cities  as  Springfield  and 
the  other  capitals  that  are  turning  their  streets 
into  parks  of  worship,  should  have  one  pa- 


200  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

triotism,  one  caste  rule,  one  religion,  the  relig 
ion  of  honoring  woman  as  a  comrade  citizen. 

"The  Yellow  Dance  Halls  are  deceits.  They 
dance  lies.  Their  unwritten  laws  are  poison 
ous  Singaporian  devices  that  in  the  end  make 
beasts  of  boys  and  girls  and  take  cocaine 
for  granted.  And  in  the  sporting,  boastful 
excitement  of  cocaine,  ill  things  are  born, 
vendettas  that  only  yesterday  brought  mortal 
bloodshed  upon  our  streets  and  tricks  that 
shamed  us  before  the  ages. 

"The  election  is  coming  Tuesday,  the  Yel 
low  Dance  Hall  Parade,  tomorrow.  Let  us 
remember  that  this  referendum  election  has 
been  brought  about  by  the  signatures  of  the 
entire  Board  of  Education,  of  over  half  the 
City  Council  and  of  a  completely  representa 
tive  host  of  citizens  of  all  families  and  clans 
and  faiths.  If  we  who  have  signed  that  paper 
win  our  petition,  it  is  the  last  and  third  call 
and  the  voters  will  grant  that  The  Yellow 
Dance  Halls  be  banished  from  our  city  for 
ever.  Tomorrow  the  Yellow  Parade  is  com 
ing.  There  will  be  every  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  yellow  claque  to  laugh  down  the  seri 
ousness  of  the  issue.  Let  no  friend  of  this 
Cathedral  take  part  in  that  parade.  Let  all 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  201 

good  citizens,  at  every  spare  moment  from 
this  hour  to  the  election,  go  forth  to  urge 
their  immediate  kith  and  kin  and  fellow  clans 
men  to  turn  out  at  the  polls  and  vote  for  the 
banishment  of  these  places  and  let  my  friends 
who  have  taken  the  especial  Oath  of  the  Strict 
Observance  consider  this  election  their  charge 
and  let  them  leave  nothing  undone  that  will 
secure  a  full  showing  at  the  polls  of  the  voters 
of  whatever  persuasion.  The  only  way  to  lose 
this  election  is  by  staying  at  home." 

The  voice  of  the  aged  and  weary  St.  Friend 
rises  almost  to  a  shriek.  He  pauses  many 
times  for  breath  but  goes  on,  clinging  to  the 
pulpit  as  he  may,  exhausted  by  vigil  and 
anger: — 

"The  Yellow  Halls,  where  all  public  gam 
bling  is  carried  on  and  all  election  money 
passes !  The  Yellow  Halls,  where,  despite  the 
legislation  of  a  clearly  established  majority, 
through  a  hundred  years,  the  gold  and  alcohol 
from  far  beneath  the  gilded  roofs,  is  brought 
forth  from  mouldy  hiding  places  and  doled 
out  to  corrupt  the  electorate  and  thwart  the 
clearly  recorded  will  of  the  people.  How  long 
shall  we  endure  these  secret  multimillionaires 
and  secret  wine  kings  and  secret  cocaine 
kings,  despising  every  phase  of  thoroughbred 


202  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

and  honor-bound  American  Democracy?  De 
spite  all  the  doings  of  the  month  of  May,  not 
one  hiding  place  of  their  gold  has  been  un 
earthed,  not  one  case  of  their  wine  has  been 
dug  up  and  confiscated  by  the  Federal  Gov 
ernment. 

"  Yet  their  children  know  these  secret  treas 
uries  and  meet  in  these  halls  to  corrupt  all 
the  other  children  of  the  city.  From  way  be 
low  gilded  roofs  the  poison  venders  ascend 
by  tortuous  and  shameful  passages  and  go 
forth  to  dance  and  destroy  and  defeat  the 
plain  will  of  the  people  as  recorded  in  initia 
tive,  referendum,  and  recall,  and  elections  at 
the  polls  and  guild  elections: — and  even,  at 
the  height  of  their  folly,  to  whisper  Singa- 
porian  treason." 

And  so  St.  Friend  has  done  and  Surto  Hur- 
denburg  beside  me  takes  him  with  exceeding 
literalness  and  goes  forth  to  agitate  and  or 
ganize  even  more  zealously  till  this  battle 
is  over. 

Monday,  June  16: — Such  is  the  protean 
character  of  human  nature  that  at  least  one 
third  of  that  congregation  of •  yesterday,  hav 
ing  their  costumes  already  prepared,  think 
it  is  a  pity  not  to  use  them,  and  are  in  the  pa- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  203 

rade  this  afternoon,  which  comes  immediately 
after  business  hours,  at  four  o'clock. 

The  parade  is  led  by  Velaska,  and  her 
minions  are  scattering  giant  asters  from  her 
yellow  barge.  She  is  an  unknown  and  wears  a 
yellow  mask.  All  this  is  a  tradition  of  these 
parades.  The  pantomime  acts  and  dances,  the 
width  and  length  of  the  block,  made  up  of  a 
thousand  clowns  and  jesters  with  baubles,  go 
Hy;  and  Falstaffs  without  number.  Because 
of  the  vacuum-cleaned  streets  and  streets  not 
so  hard  as  of  old  underfoot,  endless  dancing 
and  delicate  and  crisp  and  diaphanous  effects 
can  be  secured  and  kept  effective.  But  it  is 
all  yellow,  not  orange: — from  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne  to  the  April  gods  and  goddesses  of 
all  of  Asia.  Three  great  ballets,  the  New 
York,  the  New  Orleans  and  the  St.  Louis,  are 
imported  to  dance  their  way  down  the  streets. 
The  parade  follows  the  exact  route  of  the 
other  and  pours  north  on  Sixth  defiantly  past 
the  Cathedral,  where  I  am  watching  it  as  it 
ends.  The  crowd  has  begun  to  clear  away. 
There  is  a  rabble  of  automobiles.  Then  there 
is  a  queer  hush.  The  auto  horns  stop  blowing. 

There  comes  the  palanquin  of  the  Man  of 
Singapore,  followed  by  that  of  his  daughter, 
Mara : — such  familiar  sights  to  a  certain  num- 


204  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ber  of  Springfield  citizens,  that  the  element 
they  add  to  the  day's  pageantry  is  nominal, 
but  to  those  sensitive  on  the  issue  it  is  every 
thing  politically.  The  Bo  one  Ax  reporters 
scan  once  more,  for  the  thousandth  time,  the 
unreadable  faces  of  the  two,  searching  out 
the  Mystery  of  Asia.  The  man  bows  to  his 
friends  and  the  girl  does  the  same  and,  accord 
ing  to  those  who  have  seen  them  many  times 
before,  their  aspect  is  not  one  hair's  breadth 
changed  from  former  occasions.  The  blazing 
green,  in  the  name  of  the  Green  Glass  Buddha 
of  Singapore  is,  if  anything,  a  rest  to  the  eyes 
after  the  uncanny  yellow  in  the  name  of  other 
less  mysterious  gods. 

I  am  most  of  all  impressed  with  the  fact, 
seeing  him  for  the  first  time,  that  the  Man 
from  Singapore  is,  after  all,  in  his  Asiatic 
way,  a  superb  gentleman.  His  daughter  seems 
to  me  the  most  high  bred  of  gazelle-like  la 
dies,  which,  indeed,  I  had  known  from  her 
child  portrait  by  Sparrow  Short  and  by 
Short's  careful  report  of  her  ways. 

So  it  is  hard  for  the  honest  puritans  of  The 
Boone  Ax,  even  those  who  were  not  born  yes 
terday,  to  find  legitimate  place  for  a  new  de 
nouncing  of  the  Professor  of  Malay  Arts  and 
Letters  and  his  daughter.  And  so  the  late 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  205 

evening  edition  of  The  Bo  one  Ax  calls  them 
"the  two  strangers. "  That  is  all. 

I  have  a  jolly  evening  with  Old  Sparrow 
Short  in  the  Tom  Strong  Lunch  Room.  There 
with  many  others,  friends  of  the  halls,  Short 
is  quite  frank  over  the  issue  of  tomorrow  and 
prattles  away  at  the  pessimists.  He  feels,  for 
a  certainty,  all  needed  is  that  everyone  there- 
glow  and  enthuse.  Coffee  Kusuko  owns  most 
of  the  Yellow  Halls,  of  course.  That  means 
he  uses  them  any  way  Slick  Slack  Kopensky 
and  Mayo  Sims  direct,  at  a  crisis,  and  tonight 
the  talk  at  the  neighboring  tables  is  all  for 
the  Yellow  people  and  as  loud  as  possible  to 
be  skillful.  This  is  true  in  the  Drug  Stores  of 
Smith  as  well,  no  doubt,  for  they  are  in  the 
same  combination. 

Then  later  in  the  evening  we  go  together 
to  take  Avanel  to  the  Hall  of  Velaska,  some 
what  to  the  astonishment  of  Short,  who  knows 
she  hates  him.  But  she  wants  to  give  him  a 
chance  at  her  approval,  through  his  pictures. 
When  the  revellers  sight  my  lady,  the  leers 
fade,  and  the  boa  constrictor  dances  of  Singa 
pore  subside.  And  the  gray  head  of  Short 
puts  them  somewhat  on  their  dignity,  even  if 
they  merely  regard  Avanel  with  spite.  But  so 


206  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

many  of  them  are  sage  and  solemn  with  her 
and  bow  so  carefully! 

1  '  They  are  trying  too  hard,"  says  Avanel, 

Sparrow  Short  shows  us  the  mottoes  he  has 
painted  high  on  the  walls: 

' '  Good  Cheer  Can  Save  the  Soul. ' ' 

"Let  us  Cultivate  the  Patience  of  Humor/' 

"Let  us  Seek  the  Humility  of  Humor  and 
Laugh  at  Ourselves." 

"The  Touch  of  Humor  is  in  all  Successful 
Politics." 

"No  Man  is  Too  Awkward  to  Dance." 
(But  he  has  never  danced  in  his  life!) 

Then  he  shows  us  the  picture  of  Velaska, 
the  mythical  muse  of  the  Hall.  Velaska 
is  expecting  her  lover.  She  is  dressed  in  the 
heaviest  and  most  pretentious  of  yellow  silks ; 
were  it  not  for  her  veil,  there  would  be  no 
harmony.  But  it  is  iridescent,  covers  her 
from  head  to  foot,  blending  and  modifying  all. 

She  wears  her  yellow  mask.  Short  says: — 
"Her  lover  will  not  see  her  face  till  the  dawn, 
when  she  lays  aside  her  veil  also." 

He  is  quite  proud  of  his  picture.  Avanel 
is  politely  interested  and  no  more.  The  pic 
ture  gives  me  the  headache,  1  am  sure  it  is 
the  poorest  thing  Short  has  done.  He  thinks 
it  is  the  flag  of  liberty,  almost  equal  to  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  207 

Star  Spangled  Banner,  and  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  and  Washington 's  Farewell 
Address.  Avanel  dances  with  many  loving 
and  devoted  boys.  Avanel  admires  enthusi 
astically  all  the  other  pictures  of  Short  and 
his  decorations.  But  it  is  plain,  when  the 
evening  is  over,  they  still  hate  each  other. 

Tuesday,  June  17:— Today  "Velaska"  and 
her  train  are  voted  out  "for  good  and  all." 
Blue-faced  Surto  Hurdenburg  and  a  thousand 
like  him  have  gone  from  house  to  house,  talk 
ing  incessantly.  Morality  is  always  keener  in 
the  followers  than  the  leaders,  and  Hurden 
burg  and  his  kind  worked  among  the  sharp 
strong-minded  semi-obscure  people,  just  a 
little  better  than  themselves,  whose  edge  is 
not  dulled  by  many  successes  or  the  paradoxes 
and  mixed  alliances  that  come  about  through 
the  long  possession  of  power. 

Some  Yellow  Dance  Hall  people  charge  that 
Drug  Store  Smith,  Coffee  Kusuko,  and  Slick 
Slack  Kopensky  pocketed  the  campaign  fund 
of  the  dug-up  gold,  to  bury  it  in  their  own 
pits. 

The  "dead  game  sports"  of  the  city  roar 
themselves  purple  about  a  "tyrannical  minor 
ity"  and  "horrible  puritanism"  despite  the 


208  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

heaviest  majority  against  them  that  the 
laughing  city  ever  polled  on  any  issue.  They 
try  to  spread  the  wild  rumor  that  "tobacco 
and  coffee  will  go  next  and  then  the  theatre.7' 


CHAPTER  XIH 

HOW  BLUE-FACED   SURTO   HURDENBURG   IS   LYNCHED. 

HOW    THE    TOWN    SWEEPS    ON    INTO    THE    GLORIES 

OF  SUMMER  AND  JUNE  BRIDES  AND  THE  GORG- 

EOUSNESS  OF  THE  TOWERS  FROM  NIGHTFALL 

TILL    MIDNIGHT.     HOW    MY    LOVE    AND    I 

ARE    AGAIN    ENSNARED    BY    DEVIL'S 

GOLD. 

June  20,  2018: — Last  night  was  presumably 
the  time  of  the  final  closing  of  the  halls,  at 
precisely  five  minutes  of  twelve.  So  at  five 
minutes  of  eight  or  thereabouts,  one  of  the 
younger  members  of  the  Montague  Rock  fam 
ily  brings,  with  great  secrecy  and  under  spe 
cial  devices  of  disguise,  a  treasury  of  wine 
from  beneath  some  cellar  of  his  clan  and  dis 
tributes  it  to  a  carefully  censored  company  in 
the  Yellow  Hall  of  the  Mythical  Velaska.  The 
world  begins  to  burn  for  those  here  assembled 
for  their  farewell  dance.  It  so  happens  that 
Hurdenburg,  intoxicated  from  the  mere  drink 
of  victory,  hears  the  noise  as  he  passes.  He 
mounts  the  stairs.  He  breaks  past  a  guard 
who  has  himself  had  enough  drink  to  make 

209 


210  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

him  too  easy.  But  the  remainder  of  the  com 
pany  have  had  enough  to  make  them  too 
stern  and  at  the  very  sight  of  the  "  puritan " 
Hurdenburg,  they  turn  to  beasts.  They  have 
been  saying,  moreover,  that  they  were  going 
to  hang  the  whole  Board  of  Education  and 
1 ' every  other  damned  hypocrite  in  town." 
They  have  been  denouncing,  with  some 
shrieks,  "the  millions  of  rank  hypocrites" 
with  which  America  is  beset,  hypocrites  who 
banish  the  gold  and  the  alcohol  to  the  cellars 
and  will  not  permit  people  to  be  "honest  mil 
lionaires"  and  "honest  drunkards"  when 
they  please.  "What  the  town  really  needs," 
they  have  been  saying, — and  Crawling  Jim, 
slayer  of  Beau  Nash,  has  been  saying  it  the 
loudest, — is  a  vigilance  committee.  What  the 
"holy  city  of  Springfield  needs  is  a  committee 
to  hang  with  ropes  all  people  who  attempt 
to  regulate  the  religion  or  the  habits  of  their 
neighbors. ' '  By  religion,  Jim  probably  means 
the  Singaporian  religion  but  does  not  stress 
that  point. 

And  so,  at  sight  of  Hurdenburg,  the  in 
famous  minion  of  the  wicked  St.  Friend,  Hur 
denburg  drunk  on  political  and  ecclesiastical 
power,  they  make  a  rush  for  him,  and,  led  by 
crawling  Jim,  this  crew,  in  the  masks  of  the 
Mythical  Velaska,  tie  Surto  Hurdenburg  to  a 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  211 

pillar.  They  drink  m<Dre  buried  treasure,  as 
they  decide  what  to  do  with  him.  They  form 
ally  and  solemnly  conclude  that  they  will  be 
merciful  and  not  follow  the  well  established 
American  lynching  custom  of  burning  alive, 
though  Hurdenburg,  in  this  case,  deserves 
such  treatment.  They  untie  him  from  the  pil 
lar,  and  carry  him  to  the  foot  of  a  Golden 
Rain  Tree  of  Democracy.  Crawling  Jim  puts 
the  noose  in  place.  Then  Hurdenburg  is 
hanged  by  the  neck  till  he  is  dead.  And 
the  merrymakers  go  back  to  the  hall  undis 
turbed  and  dance  till  five  minutes  before 
twelve  and  then  the  city  police  close  the  hall, 
according  to  expectations.  The  followers  of 
the  masked  Velaska  go  home,  apparently 
satisfied  with  one  night 's  work,  most  of  them 
in  the  arms  of  one  another  and  quite  drunk 
with  wine.  It  is  toward  morning  a  police 
man  finds  Hurdenburg,  cut  down  by  an  un 
known  hand,  lying  in  the  grass. 

June  24: — All  local  papers,  including  The 
Bo  one  Ax,  roar  about  the  lynching  for  one 
day,  then  proceed  to  minimize  it  as  much  as 
possible.  So  I  will  do  the  same  in  this  chron 
icle,  being  loyal  to  my  city.  A  Chicago  paper 
of  infamous  repute  is  glad  to  "have  some 
thing  on"  Springfield  and  sends  down  gloat 
ing  reporters,  who  make  the  very  worst  of  it, 


212  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

rehash  Springfield's  political  history  for  the 
last  month,  putting  the  ugliest  face  on  every 
thing,  tracing  through  the  city  their  own  kind 
of  history. 

June  25 : — Rumors  of  the  threatened  lynch 
ing  of  all  the  accepted  leaders  of  the  town 
are  circulating  from  the  City  Hall,  though  the 
City  Hall  people  are  with  the  greatest  im 
partiality  included  in  the  rumors.  The  Board 
of  Education  is  not  frightened.  The  city  to 
day  proceeds  to  give  Hurdenburg  a  wonderful 
funeral.  This  funeral  seems  to  ring  the  doom 
of  infamous  Yellow  Halls  for  all  time.  Saint 
Friend  preaches  a  funeral  sermon  with  tre 
mendous  fire. 

June  26 : — It  appears  that  the  bad  bloods  of 
the  town  are  frantically  devouring  their  own 
souls,  or  leaving.  The  city  has  been  losing, 
since  the  election  and  the  lynching,  as  much 
genius  as  it  does  deviltry.  Sparrow  Short 
who  has  been  obliged  to  take  down  his  pic 
tures  and  hang  them  defiantly  in  his  own 
studio,  has  turned  into  a  profane  old  varlet, 
amazing  to  hear,  and  is  inciting  as  many 
pupils  of  ours  as  possible  to  leave  Springfield. 
He  is  himself  threatening  to  leave.  But  he 
does  not  leave.  "Certainly  it  is  no  hard 
ship,  "  as  the  Sentimental  Romanoff  says,  in 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  213 

The  Boone  Ax,  "to  see  departing  the  most  of 
those  with  a  special  talent  for  raising  Cain. ' ' 
And  he  remarks  on  what  an  awful  row  they 
would  have  made,  had  they  been  sent  out  of 
town.  The  coffee  houses  still  exist.  There  is 
no  denying  that  they  are  getting  pretty  lively, 
considering  that  nothing  but  coffee  is  dis 
pensed. 

Rabbi  Ezekiel,  moreover,  with  all  care  to 
defer  to  the  aged  St.  Friend  in  a  personal 
way,  declares  that  the  photoplay  movement, 
being  no  longer  in  alliance  with  questioned 
places,  is  destined  to  go  forward  with  fresh 
life.  He  admits  that  the  abolition  of  the  halls 
is  justified,  though  he  took  no  part  in  it.  But 
he  is  a  motion  picture  fan,  whatever  the  turn 
of  history. 

June  27 : — My  whole  feeling  over  the  fights 
about  the  halls  is  that  I  have  not  had  much 
chance,  after  Avanel  's  promise  to  dance  there 
with  me.  I  have  had  only  an  evening  or  so. 

As  for  the  lynching,  the  court  proceedings 
promise  to  drag  on,  as  they  always  have  in 
such  cases.  Everyone  knows  nothing  will  be 
done  except  postpone.  Everyone  knows  it  was 
Jim,  yet  no  one  knows  it,  and  the  Janitor  of 
the  Yellow  Hall  is  the  only  person  whose 
name  gets  into  the  papers. 


214  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

June  28:  — The  Thibetan  Boy,  that  the 
Bomanoff  dubbed  the  Muttering  Thibetan, 
now  swings  into  my  life,  and  as  though  he 
were  a  guide  sent  from  wonderland,  with 
sealed  orders  just  opened,  he  takes  me  the 
rounds  of  Springfield  and  the  whole  city  be 
comes  new.  It  is  not  a  place  of  individual  sin 
ners  and  saints.  The  City's  architecture 
seems  to  breathe  and  live  for  him.  The  tiniest 
gargoyle  takes  on  personality  and  citizenship. 
All  this  morning  he  has  been  taking  me 
through  the  gardens  of  Mother  Grey.  These 
gardens  seem  built  rather  than  planted.  The 
trees  are  green  walls  and  roofs.  I  am  amused 
to  note  there  is  no  prejudice  against  dande 
lions,  since,  in  a  former  existence,  I  had  so 
many  to  dig  up.  They  now  make  the  carpets. 
He  takes  me  into  the  temple  studio  of  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third,  who  is  especi 
ally  busy  for  young  university  student  girls 
who  expect  to  be  June  brides  in  the  next  two 
or  three  days.  This  studio  is  a  place  estab 
lished  for  the  innermost  circles  of  the  flower 
religion.  Before  each  altar  is  a  design  to  be 
set  up  and  kept  glorious  in  some  new  cottage. 
Several  of  these  are  for  a  new  row  of  cottages 
near  Washington  Park  called  Bridal  Row. 
The  temple  is  full  of  the  fluttering  brides  of 
tomorrow,  seeing  the  last  touches  and  consult- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  215 

ing  about  what  candles  and  incense  to  burn, 
and  asking  over  and  over  what  flowers  are 
permitted  by  the  Flower  Religion  Marriage 
Service,  which  is  the  one  most  preferred  by 
the  exquisites  of  2018. 

June  29: — Avanel  and  I  have  developed  a 
favorite  walk:  the  Lincoln's  monument  re 
gion.  We  pass  under  many  of  the  Golden 
Rain  Trees  and  Ezekiel  Oaks,  to  the  Apple- 
Amaranth  Grove  that  was  the  first  in  Sanga- 
mon  County,  and  the  Grave  of  Hunter  Kelly, 
in  the  midst  of  it.  There  are  the  old  pick  and 
spade  of  the  Devil,  always  left  on  the  grave. 
When  we  do  not  walk  in  this  region  we  are 
apt  to  be  looking  this  way  from  the  Truth 
Tower,  from  the  lookout  room  of  the  news 
papers,  or  looking  back  from  the  telescope 
room  of  the  Ashland  Gate.  Avanel  is  gener 
ally  very  solemn  looking  this  way,  planning 
new  processions  and  dances  in  praise  of  Hun 
ter  Kelly  and  the  next  festival  of  Hunter 
Kelly,  July  11. 

June  30: — Avanel  has  four  suitors  in 
Springfield.  I  am  often  but  a  ghost  in  my  own 
eyes  and  always  but  shadow  to  them.  On  the 
hot  summer  days  she  goes  with  three  of  them 
to  the  gigantic  porcelain-lined  swimming  pool 
of  Bunn  Park,  with  two  girls,  a  merry  six. 


216  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

I  hardly  have  my  turn  with  her  for  several 
days  at  a  time. 

One  of  her  suitors  is  an  engineer.  One  is 
a  motor-truck  driver.  One  is  an  aviator.  I 
sometimes  find  myself  the  servant  of  all  three 
men,  but  ignored  as  servants  may  be.  As 
clouds,  mists  and  smoke  seems  to  choke  me, 
through  the  whirlwind,  I  am  sometimes 
the  absurd  unregarded  dragon  engine  bear 
ing  her  and  the  engineer  to  Chicago.  While 
she  laughs  as  his  guest  in  the  engine  cab  I 
must  look  down  the  track  through  the  murk, 
and  I  cannot  turn  round  and  see  the  face  of 
her  lover,  and  the  skies  are  laughing  at  me 
forever.  Sometimes  I  am  in  my  dream 
the  absurd  auto-truck  engine,  carrying  her 
and  the  driver,  as  he  delivers  his  last  con 
signment  of  goods  from  the  central  market. 
Even  the  stones  of  the  street  laugh  at  me  as 
we  rattle  over  them.  I  am  only  a  mechanical 
toy,  and  the  traffic  in  the  street,  preparing 
for  the  great  World's  Fair,  drowns  out  the 
whispers  of  the  young  people. 

Sometimes  I  am  the  ridiculous  flying  ma 
chine  in  which  she  rides  as  though  to  mock 
me,  with  the  third  lover.  I  must  soar  on  and 
carry  them  and  they  go  through  fearful 
storms  and  up  through  inconceivable  black 
ness  and  I  cannot  see  before  or  after.  Even 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  217 

the  sound  of  the  rushing  wind  drowns  out 
their  words. 

And  as  these  men  dismount  from  their  char 
iots,  and  as  they  are  on  the  point  of  passing 
by  me,  with  their  lordly  airs,  I  turn  to  dust. 
I  am  as  dust  of  the  road  swept  up  by  a  little 
puff  of  wind.  And  then  the  witchcraft  con 
tinues  and  I  find  myself  a  coal  digger  in  the 
mine  beside  young  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael, 
the  Third,  or  laying  brick  with  him  some 
where,  and  I  know  that  I  am  such  stuff  as 
dreams  are  made  off. 

My  fourth  rival  is  the  one  I  most  fear. 
He  is  a  twenty  year  old  libertine,  a  kind  of  a 
Lord  Byron.  He  loves  her  now,  for  a  day.  His 
name  is  TIME.  To  torture  me  the  more  and 
lure  me  on  from  the  desire  for  perpetual  death 
and  to  prepare  me  again  for  a  more  futile 
struggle,  he  gives  me  deep  and  curious  days 
with  Avanel,  when  we  seem  to  be  twin  explor 
ers  of  the  Universe.  And  then  I  have  big 
athletic  days  with  her  when  I  seem,  not  a 
ghost,  but  something  as  substantial  as  a 
strutting  turkey  gobbler. 

So  this  last  day  of  June,  in  the  Mystic  Year, 
after  a  big  swim  at  Bunn  Park,  amidst 
thousands  of  gay  mermen  and  mermaids,  we 
plan  an  all-afternoon  and  all-evening  walk. 
And  we  go  west  on  Wellesley  Avenue  and 


218  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

north  on  Sixth  Street,  all  the  way  to  the 
•Sangamon  Eiver  and  to  Sangamon  Eiver 
Park.  We  find  there  a  cage  we  have  never 
seen  before.  It  is  between  the  ice  pit  of  the 
grizzly  bears  and  the  yard  of  the  giraffes. 
It  is  a  large  cage.  In  it  a  pair  of  new  animals 
pace  back  and  forth,  trailing  their  quills  on 
the  ground.  The  cage  is  marked.  "Quilled 
Lions  from  Java."  They  do  not  seem  as  fierce 
as  lions,  but  have  a  more  human  peering, 
way.  They  seem  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the 
world  rather  than  angry  with  it.  The  male 
animal  marches  round  and  round  his  mate. 
She  is  like  him  even  to  the  collar  of  gorgeous 
quills  that  rise  and  fall.  The  heads  of  these 
sagacious  beasts  differentiate  them  further 
from  lions.  They  have  a  bit  more  skull  struc 
ture,  and  at  the  same  time  are  more  satanic 
in  their  foreheads  and  their  faces.  They  seem 
to  speak  to  each  other  by  signs,  by  glances, 
and  mere  pacing  together.  It  gives  the  im 
pression  of  being  most  detailed  and  construc 
tive  conversation.  Meanwhile,  the  crests  go 
through  chameleon  changes.  The  beasts  watch 
the  setting  sun  as  intently  as  we  have  ever 
done,  and  the  spikequill  collars  follow  every 
evanescent  turn  of  the  hues. 

Avanel  says :  ' '  Whatever  these  animals  are, 
they  ought  not  to  be  in  a  cage.  If  they  could 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  219 

only  be  taught  the  English  language,  or  we 
could  learn  theirs,  we  might  make  them  mas 
cots  for  the  city,  or  even  Lord  Mayor  and 
Wife." 

The  attendant  says:  "Do  not  go  too  near. 
Those  quills  are  poison/' 

' '  Yes,  indeed, ' '  answers  Avanel  as  the  light 
dawns  instantly.  "And  Java  is  almost  the 
same  as  Singapore.  We  might  have  known 
such  beasts  came  from  near  Singapore.  I  have 
heard  of  them.  They  are  the  Singaporian 
lions." 

Thon  we  forget  these  beasts  and  walk 
eastward  along  the  Sangamon  Eiver  Drive. 
Through  the  openings  of  the  trees  and  from 
the  higher  points  we  look  back  southward. 
We  have  had  our  feast  and  our  Amaranth- 
Apples  in  the  Sangamon  Park  pavilion.  The 
star  chimes  are  ringing.  The  towers  are 
there  to  the  south.  What  torch  bearers 
before  time  have  equalled  these  priest- 
wizards  with  entrails  of  fire?  They  are 
sterner  than  priests.  They  are  the  soldier- 
machines  of  liberty  that  will  sweep  the 
world.  They  are  the  Macedonian  phalanx 
that  will  decide  for  another  century  every 
field  upon  which  they  will  appear.  The  mer 
chants  of  Singapore  refuse  to  use  the  Sunset 
Towers,  when  they  build  their  new  cities  in 


220  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  t)F  SPRINGFIELD 

their  battle  for  world  supremacy,  and  even 
by  that  they  are  doomed.  The  houses  and 
commercial  palaces  and  temples  of  Singapore 
crouch  little  and  low,  like  huts  in  a  forest,  or 
glass  pagodas  in  little  stage  comedies.  They 
are  fearful  of  the  incantations  hatched  in  our 
hives  of  electrical  flame  that  shine  on  to  the 
glory  of  Louis  H.  Sullivan  and  Frank  Lloyd 
Wright,  who  planned  the  first  ones,  a  cen 
tury  ago,  and  the  Thibetan  Boy  and  John 
Emis,  who  build  them  today. 

Avanel  and  I  walk  south  to  the  city  down 
beautiful  Fifteenth  Street.  The,  city  is  the 
Fair  and  the  Fair  is  the  city,  though  there 
has  not  yet  come  the  formal  proclamation 
to  the  world  of  the  opening.  There  is  not  one 
heart  on  the  street  but  ceems  to  be  beating 
happily.  The  elation  in  the  air  on  this  perfect 
June  night  is  worth  a  lifetime  of  groans.  It 
seems  to  me  that  for  this  hour  Springfield  has 
been  patiently  toiling  and  staggering  on,  de 
spite  much  sorrow  and  sin,  for  a  century.  All 
the  children  of  this  generation  seem  to  sweep 
by  us  and  to  be  spending  the  stored  up  capac 
ity  of  themselves  and  all  their  ancestors  for 
jubilation. 

There  are  hundreds  of  unspoiled  sight 
seers  in  the  crowd  looking  on  the  lights  of 
Springfield,  often  for  the  first  time.  These 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  221 

visitors  will  not  wait  for  the  Mayor's  proc 
lamation,  that  the  Fair  has  begun. 

And  they  are  happy,  but  not  as  we  two  are 
The  bass  viol  orchestra  of  the  lacquered  and 
rumbling  pleasure  wagons  sings  a  special 
song  to  us  though  we  be  independent  walk 
ers.  We  hear  them,  we  boast,  better  than 
they  hear  themselves.  There  is  a  babble  and  a 
roar  that  is  the  beating  of  the  vast  heart  of 
Springfield.  Its  rhythm  goes  into  our  foot 
falls  every  instant. 

It  is  late,  and  Avanel  insists  on  going  on, 
in  the  intoxication  of  weariness,  and  will  not 
let  me  take  her  to  her  house  on  Mulberry 
Boulevard.  She  leads  me  into  the  very  thick 
of  the  great  forest  of  Sunset  Towers  again, 
now  '/midnight  towers, "  she  says  to  me,  with 
her  face  flushed  to  a  deep  crimson  from  utter 
weariness,  and  her  eyes  heavy  with  the  desire 
for  sleep,  and  her  determined  little  feet  still 
dancing  nervously  on.  And  this  is  what  her 
soul  says  to  me,  and  what  we  say  to  one  an 
other,  in  our  fashion,  as  we  whirl  on:  "Not 
until  another  civilization  rises  here,  will  there 
be  a  rival  form  to  these  towers.  It  is  onty  a 
matter  of  years  till  the  type  be  perfected  by 
John  Emis  or  the  Thibetan  Boy  or  their  kind. 
The  first  generation  of  ripened  builders  came 
a  century  ago.  That  was  our  Early  Eenais- 


222  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

sance.  At  last  our  High  Renaissance  has 
come.  The  ripe  architectural  genius  will 
appear  who  will  gather  to  himself  all  that 
can  be  known  of  beam  and  girder  and 
truss,  of  foundation  and  wind  pressure  and 
the  distribution  of  light,  all  that  can  be 
learned  about  hollow  brick  and  tile,  of  pillar 
and  elevator  and  fireproofing.  He  will  under 
stand  the  chances  peculiar  to  his  materials 
and  town.  His  imagination  will  be  a  smelter, 
a  mastered  volcano.  He  will  have  visions  of 
welded  steel  that  will  put  all  men  to  shame 
but  the  builders  of  the  Parthenon,  the  hewers 
of  the  Sphinx.  There  shall  be  no  borrowings 
from  Paris  or  Rome. 

"The  least  minor  decoration  shall  reflect 
the  majesty  of  the  dream,  as  the  Gothic  altar 
carving  repeated  the  flying  buttress  and  the 
spires  leaping  heavenward. 

"Because  we  take  our  pleasure  at  the  feet 
of  the  Sunset  Towers,  now  *  midnight  tow 
ers'  while  the  midnight  stars  go  by,  they 
shall  be  reembodied  and  perfected  in  the  sons 
that  shall  spring  from  them  like  light. 

"They  are  the  rose  and  gold  progenitors  of 
Sprinfield,  the  rainbow  patriarchs  of  Spring 
field.  They  stand  proudly  through  the  night 
and  the  lighted  streets  below  them  are  like  a 
carpet  of  goldenrod  and  dandelions  unrolled 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  223 

at  their  feet.  Their  heads  are  so  far  in  the 
heavens  they  converse  with  their  serene  sister 
the  moon.  They  look  out  together  to  the 
Springfield  University  and  the  Sangamon 
River  where  the  bridges  sweep  to  the  north, 
sparkling  threads  in  the  mist.  They  look 
south  to  the  Street  of  Past  History  that  bends 
around  till  it  meets  them. 

"Who  shall  dispraise  the  excellence  of  our 
towers  ?  They  look  west  with  all  the  pioneers, 
and  the  very  soul  of  far  off,  west-going  Daniel 
Boone  is  in  them. 

"We  take  our  pleasure,  honorable,  or  philo 
sophical,  innocent  or  stupid  or  guilty,  at 
their  feet,  and  where  pleasure  is,  there  art  is 
born.  Many  songs  shall  be  sung  to  them, 
many  new  names  given  to  them.  Their  chil 
dren  shall  rise  up  to  call  them  blessed.  Their 
children  shall  be  a  world-conquering  city  all 
about  them,  before  the  relentless  sun  looks 
down  upon  their  ruins,  before  that  blazing 
lion  of  time  shall  have  eaten  their  bones  of 
steel. 

"They  were  born  from  the  black  soil  of  Illi 
nois  and  from  the  heart  of  the  Thibetan  and 
from  the  Red  Indian  and  the  Afro-American 
and  all  the  tribes  of  the  earth.  There  is  in 
them  many  an  antithesis  to  all  the  old  archi 
tectures  and  structures. 


224  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

"The  noblest  thing  to  be  seen  from  their 
heights  is  the  mighty  northwest  road.  For 
the  souls'  highway  will  stay  open  and  crying 
for  the  souls  of  men  to  follow  when  these 
towers  are  dead  and  gone. " 

Now  it  is  way  past  midnight,  and  we  are 
at  old  Fifth  and  Monroe,  and  all  the  street 
cars  and  vehicles  have  long  stopped,  and  the 
light  in  Dodds'  drug  store  is  dim,  and  the  all- 
night  clerks  are  nodding  behind  the  cases,  or 
chatting  at  the  ice  cream  tables,  half  awake. 

And  so  Avanel  and  I,  walking  in  one  dream 
together,  know  not  whether  we  see  with  the 
human  eyes  that  perish  or  the  eyes  of  eternity. 

Suddenly  something  of  the  cry  of  the  earth 
reaches  us,  and  there,  camping  at  the  crossing 
of  the  street  car  tracks  of  Fifth  and  Mon 
roe  is  the  Handsome  Medicine  Man,  Devil's 
Gold.  He  is  shaking  his  bead  covered  rattle, 
making  medicine,  and  dishonoring  our  souls 
with  his  leer.  And  he  calls  us  by  name  as  we 
stand  directly  in  front  of  him.  We  are  so 
tired  from  our  long  walk,  we  cannot  but  ad 
mire  his  gilded  face  and  his  yellow  magic 
blanket. 

Holding  each  other's  hands  like  lovers  we 
stoop  and  admire  ourselves  in  the  golden  pool 
that  flickers  in  the  great  campfire  he  has  im- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  225 

pudently  built  at  the  crossing  of  the  street 
car  tracks. 

"We  walk  down  through  the  pool  into  a 
mundane  world,  so  perfect  its  materialism 
becomes  magical,  and  into  many  an  under 
ground  field  and  forest  of  wonder,  and  as  we 
look  into  each  other's  faces  and  admire  one 
another  we  are  moving  gilded  images  from 
head  to  feet.  But  since  we  are,  at  least,  to 
gether,  a  hundred-year  hunger  in  the  very 
midst  of  my  heart  is  thus  terribly  satisfied, 
though  I  am  frightened  at  a  betrayal  I  cannot 
understand,  as  though  the  heavens  themselves 
had  lied.  We  take  the  wickedest  pleasure  in 
looking  upon  the  yellow  world  around  us. 
And  we  hear  on  the  air  the  laughter  of  the 
Handsome  Medicine  Man,  Devil's  Gold. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOW  I  MAKE  CERTAIN  EXPLORATIONS  OF  THE  GREAT 

DEEP       HOW    I    LATER    FIND    MYSELF    THE    MALAY 

SLAVE     OF    THE     MAN    FROM    SINGAPORE    AND 

THEREBY    GET    AN    ENTIRELY    NEW    ANGLB 

ON    NEW    SPRINGFIELD. 

July  2,  2018: — This  morning  Avanel  tele 
phones  to  me  as  she  is  looking  out  of  her 
bedroom  window  over  Mulberry  Boulevard 
and  South  Grand  Avenue,  she  wants  me  to 
meet  her  at  once  on  her  lawn  and  to  hurry,  for 
there  is  a  strange  giant  bird  like  a  burst  of 
flame,  in  a  mulberry  treetop.  And  so  before 
it  goes,  (and  it  was  there  yesterday  morning 
at  dawn  and  hurried  away),  I  am  able  to 
meet  the  Lady  Avanel,  as  she  stands  in  her 
hasty  kimono  and  bedroom  slippers,  and  goes 
wild  over  the  marvel  singing  overhead  and 
eating  mulberries  for  all  it  is  worth.  It  is  a 
kind  of  Singing  Bird  of  Paradise,  lost  here 
unaccountably  from  the  tropics.  Birds  of 
Paradise  do  not  sing,  but  most  sweet  music 
this  one  makes.  He  flies  down  the  street  and 
away  into  the  sun  at  the  moment  the  whole 

226 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  227 

orb  appears.  He  seems  to  go  to  the  center  of 
it,  like  an  arrow  of  a  demi-god. 

This  afternoon  and  evening  are  the  final 
drill  times  for  the  solemn  festival  in  praise 
of  Hunter  Kelly,  on  July  the  eleventh.  I 
\vatch  the  rehearsal.  It  is  "directed  by  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third.  The  main 
dances,  especially  the  drills  on  chosen  white 
ponies  are  directed  by  the  Lady  Avanel,  being 
modifications  of  the  solemn  marchings  and 
countermarchings  of  the  Gordon  Craig  Thea 
tre.  In  this  eleventh  of  July  festival  to  cele 
brate  Hunter  Kelly's  first  planting  of  the 
Amaranth  Orchards,  there  are  to  be  great 
comic  dancers,  and  clowns,  but  they  are  com 
pletely  overshadowed  by  the  devout  ceremo 
nial  processions,  horseback  or  afoot.  Like  all 
rehearsals,  the  affair  drags  interminably; 
much  of  the  stateliness  is  still  to  be  taken  for 
granted,  till  the  final  occasion.  It  is  a  weary 
Avanel,  who  sends  her  pony  home  by  a  friend, 
and  takes  dinner  with  me  in  the  Lincoln  Park 
Pavilion  and  her  eyes  are  unnaturally  bright 
and  she  is  silent  and  half  crying.  She  pulls 
her  napkin  to  pieces  and  then  the  card,  from 
nervousness. 

She  says: — "Why  are  you  here  with  me, 
awkward  and  ill  dressed  man!  Unmannerly 
and  uncouth  man !  Yokel  and  anarchist !  Why 


228  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

run  around  with  that  mussy  old  Sparrow 
Short  all  the  time  and  then  expect  to  appear 
in  fashionable  places?" 

And  then,  after  a  silence,  she  continues: — 
' '  There  is  nothing  respectable  about  you.  All 
the  best  people  of  the  city  make  fun  of  you 
and  wish  you  would  leave  town.  Why  do  you 
stay  here?  Why  not  go  to  some  other  town 
and  start  fresh?  You  have  offended  all  our 
first  families  by  your  queer  manners  and 
gauche  ways.  And  you  will  never  improve 
them  as  long  as  you  run  around  with  that 
mussy  old  Sparrow  Short.  Certainly  none  of 
the  real  people,  accomplishing  anything,  have 
any  use  for  you.  I  do  not  believe  you  even 
know  how  to  make  out  a  check  or  keep  a 
bank  book.  And  how  on  earth  you  expect  to 
get  along  in  Springfield  without  dancing  or 
playing  cards  I  cannot  understand. 

"Why  are  you  here,  you  silly  man?" 

And  so  I  say  to  her:  "Do  you  think  it  has 
cost  me  nothing  to  struggle  up  through  the 
dust  and  the  dead  grass  and  walk  beside  you  ? 
Do  you  think  it  has  cost  me  nothing  of  pain  to 
beat  with  my  poor  bare  knuckles  through  the 
years  ? ' ' 

But  when  I  say  such  things  to  Avanel,  she 
does  not  hear  them. 

But  I  am  determined  and  I  say:    "Last 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  229 

March  you  came  galloping  up  the  Northwest 
Eoad  on  your  white  pony,  and  I  was  buried 
too  near  the  highway  to  sleep,  with  such  glory 
going  by.  A  man  may  hardly  expect  to  live 
again  beyond  the  life  of  that  little  earth  that 
surrounds  his  bones,  and  feeds  the  roots  of 
the  nearest  tree.  He  may,  perhaps  give  life 
through  the  leaves  of  that  tree  to  the  locust 
in  the  bark,  or  to  the  squirrel  in  the  branches, 
but  your  song  came  past  my  grave  like  a 
fairy's  breath,  and  my  ashes  are  again  man 
or  fire  or  weed  or  living  thorns,  or  what  you 
will  them  to  be.  If  you  will  have  nothing  of  a 
man,  why  give  life  to  his  dust?" 

But  when  I  say  such  things  to  Avanel,  she 
does  not  hear  them.  I  am  a  gauche  beau, 
that  is  all  ...  The  mists  sweep  down 
upon  us,  and  we  are  on  the  very  eastern  edge 
of  Chaos,  where  it  storms  in  upon  the  shore 
of  created  things.  And  AvanePs  eyes  are 
sleepy  and  her  voice  is  faint  and  far  away. 
But  she  says:  "Do  you  think  I  dance  for 
temporal  Springfield,  or  make  my  pony  dance 
for  such  a  city?  We  dance  for  an  audience 
of  the  great  deep." 

Looming  across  the  gulf  is  the  gigantic 
porch  of  the  Palace  of  Eve,  its  pillars  reach 
ing  up  into  the  highest  clouds  of  the  storm, 
pillars  that  are  Doric,  archaic,  immemorial. 


230  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

And  out  of  the  gulf  between  rises  the  vague 
splendor  of  AvanePs  Dream  City  of  the  Great 
Deep.  Avanel  says:— 

"Any  one  with  Daniel  Boone's  hunting 
knife  in  her  belt  needs  no  pompous  false 
prophets  of  democracy  to  tell  her  the  road  to 
freedom.  In  this  gulf  alone  is  freedom,  if  it 
is  to  be  found,  and  in  this  gulf  only,  is  to 
morrow.  ' ' 

And  as  she  speaks  Avanel 's  Dream  City  of 
the  Great  Deep  takes  form  and  is  a  picture 
of  the  Springfield  we  have  left  behind,  but 
utterly  transcendent,  with  the  Sunset  Towers 
in  jewelled  glory,  with  the  Truth  Tower  like 
a  pillar  hewn  from  the  white  mountains  of 
the  sun,  and  around  the  town,  star  shaped 
double  walls,  with  the  pillar  oaks  between 
them.  But  even  that  dream  crumbles  and  falls 
into  nothingness.  It  becomes  a  great  cloud 
plain,  a  bridge  for  spirit-feet,  over  the  gulf. 
And  then  I  see,  as  I  sit  lonely,  the  real  dance 
and  ceremonial  of  Hunter  Kelly  begin.  I  see 
Avanel  on  her  dancing  pony  of  white  fire, 
surrounded  by  her  devoted  maidens,  while 
dim  and  shadowy  similitudes  of  branches  of 
the  Amaranth-Apple,  made  gigantic  to  shade 
the  Universe,  bend  above  the  far  off  ministers 
of  stately  cosmic  festival. 

As  I  watch  the  dance  with  eyes  like  those 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  231 

of  a  far-seeing  bird,  I  behold  a  dim  flashing 
under  the  shadow  of  the  gigantic  pillars 
of  the  Palace  of  Eve.  As  it  were,  a 
candle  flame  in  the  storm,  Mother  Eve,  the 
immortal,  looks  up  and  down  those  great 
pillars  and  up  to  the  clouded  and  roaring 
zenith  with  its  tossing  flowering  boughs,  and 
then  to  the  solemn  dances,  far  away.  She  sees 
her  fairest  daughters  do  honor  to  Hunter 
Kelly,  pupil  and  friend  of  Johnny  Appleseed. 
Nothing  stranger  or  more  beautiful  ever  hap 
pened  in  the  shadow  of  her  palace  or  beneath 
a  flowering  storm. 

July  4: — I  am  today  in  the  wonder  of  a 
triple  consciousness.  To  the  sense  of  being 
an  Anglo  Saxon  of  the  centuries  of  1920  and 
2018  is  added  that  of  being  a  Malay  of  2018: 
I  find  myself  in  the  house  of  the  Man  from 
Singapore  his  Malay  slave.  I  find  myself 
equipped  with  singular  habits,  ideals,  and 
ideas,  as  though  I  were  the  mainspring  of  a 
most  unfamiliar  clock.  I  am  interested  in  the 
wheels  that  keep  going. 

It  is  a  blasting  Fourth  of  July  and  one  of 
the  second  servants,  whom  I  have  haughtily 
sent  down  town  on  an  errand,  tells  me,  on  re 
turning,  that  the  thermometer  at  Dodds '  drug 
store  already  registers  one  hundred  and  ten 


232  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

in  the  shade.  But  we  are  so  much  over  arched 
by  old  trees,  our  house  is  cool  enough. 

Eemembering  various  ill-reports  when  I 
lived  in  other  bodies  in  Springfield  at  this 
time,  I  am  astonished  to  find  the  Man  from 
Singapore  a  person  of  domestic  grace.  He  has 
consideration  for  my  feelings  as  a  slave.  He 
has  an  outstanding  gallantry  toward  the  dar 
ling  of  his  heart,  his  only  child,  Mara,  the 
queen  of  his  house.  The  picture  of  her  de 
parted  mother  hangs  in  the  book  room  of  the 
Professor  of  Malay  Arts  and  Letters.  It  looks 
down  gently  upon  many  lounging  mats  and 
books  left  open.  The  face  is  all  dignity  and 
languor  and  devotion. 

My  master's  ancestors,  according  to  his 
conversation  with  his  daughter  at  late  break 
fast  this  morning,  had  an  original  Malay 
strain. 

But  added  to  that  was  a  peculiar  mixture 
of  Anglo  Saxon  remittance  man,  Chinese 
banker  and  Arab  trader.  It  is  the  combina 
tion  that  crystallized  into  the  caste  to  which 
he  now  belongs,  the  caste  that  finally  gave 
distinctive  energy  to  his  polyglot,  world- 
shaking  city,  and  lifted  the  mystic  diabolism 
of  the  Cocaine  Buddha  into  aggressive  im 
perialism.  His  new  caste  found  themselves 
resolving  to  make  Singapore  a  city  wor- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  233 

shipped  like  Mecca,  if  they  had  to  cut  the 
throats  of  two  thirds  of  the  human  race  to 
bring  it  about. 

And  so,  at  this  late  breakfast,  he  looks  into 
his  coffee  languidly,  but  as  though  he  saw 
pictures  of  history  there.  He  says  that  the 
English  admixture  in  his  caste  has  long  given 
them  insight  into  the  west,  and  kept  English 
for  their  main  language.  The  English  strain 
has  also  given  the  Singaporian  a  facility  in 
taking  on  the  most  modern  scientific  devices, 
and  has  endowed  the  proud  island  with  politi 
cal  common  sense  for  routine  political  tasks. 
The  Chinese  blood  has  given  them  patience 
and  iron,  to  work  on  a  hundred-year  plan,  first 
in  their  trade  relations  and  banking  arrange 
ments,  and  then  in  all  policies  linked  up  with 
these.  But  now  it  is  the  sword  of  the  far  off 
ancient  Arab  disposition  that  is  beginning  to 
flash. 

The  Man  from  Singapore  speculates,  drink 
ing  more  coffee,  and  looking  reverently  at 
his  daughter.  He  wonders  what  he  and 
others  will  pay,  for  almost  breaking  caste  in 
their  joining  themselves  with  the  honorable 
but  too  voluptuous  and  beautiful  Kling  caste. 
So  many  of  them  are  marrying  women  of  her 
mother's  race,  and  paying  the  high  priests 
tremendous  sums  for  the  privilege.  He  won- 


234  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ders  if  it  will  bring  them  to  inefficiency,  and 
smother  the  Arab  before  it  has  a  chance  for 
complete  expression.  At  least  her  mother 's 
tribe  brought  them  their  first  energy,  for  they 
owe  the  gift  of  the  Cocaine  Buddha,  nearly 
a  century  ago,  to  the  Kling  Prophet. 

July  5: — I  find  myself  at  a  civic  reform- 
rally  late  this  afternoon,  after  business  hours. 
I  am  still  the  Malay  servant.  I  am  sent  by 
Mara,  the  good  and  beautiful,  to  watch  from 
a  distance  the  doings  of  the  young  artist, 
altar-builder,  coal  miner,  bricklayer,  exqui 
site  and  civic  patriot: — Joseph  Bartholdi  Mi 
chael,  the  Third.  He  is  her  adorer.  She  sends 
me  with  a  note  to  him,  urging  him  to  come  to 
a  suddenly  improvised  Sumatra  chess  party. 
Like  Cleopatra,  she  urges  me  to  observe  his 
doings  narrowly,  and  his  moods  when  he 
reads  her  note. 

Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third,  is  on 
the  back  row  of  seats.  He  will  take  no  part 
in  the  meeting,  though  urged  to  do  so  by  many 
friends  around  him.  The  Mayor's  proposition 
has  been  voted  down  at  the  polls,  his  desired 
legislation  to  let  great  masses  of  unskilled 
labor  into  the  city's  double  walls  without  a 
time  limit  on  their  stay  and  without  the  usual 
University  examination.  Now  he  proposes  an- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  235 

other  referendum.  He  wants  to  introduce  his 
huskies  temporarily,  especially  Singaporian 
bricklayers  from  California,  since,  as  he  says, 
our  bricklaying  machines  have  broken  down 
and  there  is  great  haste  to  complete,  in  time, 
the  building  of  the  Street  of  Past  History  of 
the  World's  Fair  of  the  University  of  Spring 
field. 

The  meeting,  squeezed  in  between  the  coffee 
house  chats  and  dinner  time,  has  been  called 
by  Michael  the  Third's  best  chums  among 
the  older  men: — Boone,  and  the  Rabbi,  who 
hope  to  defeat  the  new  measure.  The  speak 
ers  maintain  that,  once  these  laborers  are  ad 
mitted  inside  our  double  Gothic  walls,  it  will 
be  impossible  to  expel  them,  even  after  the 
Street  of  Past  History  is  finished.  They  prove 
that  there  are  enough  bricklaying  machines 
to  fill  all  the  present  contracts  on  time.  They 
maintain  that  there  are  endless  boys  in  the 
High  School  Labor  Department  trained  to 
follow  up  and  finish  the  work  in  the  wake  of 
such  machines  as  may  surely  be  impressed 
into  service. 

All  this  while  that  solemn  conceited  pump 
kin  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third, 
thinks  he  is  brooding  like  Prince  Hamlet  him 
self.  He  will  not  say  how  much  he  believes 
of  these  accusations  hurled  about. 


236  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Now  rises  old  Black  Hawk  Boone  and  I  am 
indeed  amazed  to  see  him  through  Singapo- 
rian  eyes.  He  looks  almost  like  a  whey-faced 
creature,  he  is  so  much  whiter  than  my 
master.  And  he  looks  like  the  world's  great 
est  fidget,  my  master  is  such  a  languorous 
cat.  And  for  all  Boone 's  shrewd,  cinnamon 
bear  countenance,  he  seems  to  me  a  simple 
baby,  my  master  looks  so  wise.  And  when  he 
speaks  of  my  master  by  implication,  I  can 
not  but  be  insulted.  For  my  body  and  nerves 
tonight  are  Malay,  whatever  my  soul  may  be. 
And  at  the  same  time  I  am  in  a  terrible  fear 
of  Boone  as  one  would  be  of  a  child  with 
lighted  matches  in  a  powder  mill.  There  is  in 
him  a  certain  divination  by  force  of  fury  that 
I  cannot  but  shrink  to  apprehend,  though  I 
utterly  despise  his  mind,  as  long  as  I  wear 
this  Malay  body  as  a  garment  and  make  shift 
with  these  Malay  eyes  and  ears  and  this  Malay 
sixth  sense. 

Boone 's  fury  is  everything.  His  words  are 
nothing.  In  his  capacity  as  editor  and  citizen, 
and  not  as  President  of  the  Board  of  Educa 
tion,  he  denounces  my  master,  who  is  entitled 
to  official  courtesy  as  a  member  of  the  Uni 
versity  faculty.  But  it  is  plainly  in  Boone 's 
thought  that  the  time  has  almost  come  for  the 
parting  with  the  course  in  Malay  Arts  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  237 

Letters  and  Allied  Studies,  and  the  dismissal 
of  all  oracles  therein,  though  they  be  the  most 
learned  oracles  in  the  whole  world,  and  the 
most  courteous  creatures  above  ground. 
Boone  snaps  out  his  words  like  a  beast  strain 
ing  at  a  chain. 

He  says  these  conspirators  have  long 
thought  they  could  buy  everything,  includ 
ing  the  souls  of  all  state  capitals.  He  tells 
how,  nearly  a  century  ago,  Singapore  pur 
chased  its  freedom  from  the  British  Govern 
ment  at  an  enormous  fee,  furnished  by  the 
Chinese  Chamber  of  Commerce  of  that  city. 
He  tells  how  the  port  was  immediately  lifted 
from  the  rank  of  seventh  to  the  rank  of  first 
in  the  world.  He  shows  how,  after  the  death 
of  the  prophet  of  the  Cocaine  Buddha  and  the 
local  triumph  of  the  religion,  this  zeal  for 
purchase  became  Singapore's  most  eloquent 
service  in  that  Buddha 's  name.  They  bought 
at  any  price  every  island  north  of  Australia 
and  south  of  Japan,  including  America 's  own 
Philippines.  He  charges  that  the  war  in  south 
east  Asia,  a  generation  ago,  was  stirred  up 
by  their  spies,  and  while  they  were  ostensibly 
with  the  World  Government,  the  war  ended 
with  a  vast  increase  of  their  territory  by  di 
rect  purchase  of  land  and  the  bribing  of  many 
new  and  feeble  legislatures  to  vote  themselves 


238  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

into  the  Singaporian  Union.  Finally  he  rises 
to  the  height  of  mere  abuse.  He  lets  slip  a 
most  appalling  avalanche  in  the  name  of  his 
western  God.  And  he  says  this  Mayor  and  his 
boss  have  in  some  way  been  over-persuaded 
by  a  Singaporian  spy,  present  in  the  city  or 
writing  to  them,  and  petitioning  that  they 
send  for  these  workmen,  who  come  in  as  rough 
labor.  But  that  "labor"  will  send  by  wire 
less,  code  reports  to  the  high  priests  of  the 
Cocaine  Buddha. 

The  whole  house  rises,  and  the  harder 
Boone  denounces,  the  more  they  seem  to  ap 
prove,  and  some  of  them  seem  to  have  the 
hydrophobia.  Race  hate  sweeps  the  hall  like 
a  blasting  wind.  And  Boone  crouches  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  footlights,  and  roars  on. 

He  declares  that  some  of  this  alleged  rough 
labor  is  morally  certain  to  be  a  group  of  high 
officers  of  the  army,  here  to  paralyze  America 
at  the  exact  second  the  high  priests  of  Singa 
pore  shall  choose,  using  that  dreadful  secret 
gun,  that  it  is  whispered  through  all  the 
world,  is  two  steps  beyond  the  terrible  lens 
gun. 

Meanwhile  these  Singaporians,  open  and 
secret,  will  corrupt  the  wild  and  innocent 
young  blood  of  our  city.  Boone  charges  that 
the  island  capital  is  the  world's  Barbary 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  239 

coast,  the  one  infamy  beyond  Suez.  Among 
all  the  world's  red-eyed  and  fish-eyed  human 
derelicts,  where  cocaine  is  used  to  over-en 
ergize,  and  to  make  men  flashy  and  reckless, 
there  always  their  spies  are  busiest,  and  their 
missionaries  are  most  pertinacious  and  suc 
cessful.  The  world  around,  "  SINGAPORE 
IS  COCAINE." 

Boono  continues,  in  an  utterly  different 
manner.  There  is  that  curious  slender  girl 
near  the  front  seat  with  her  companions, 
the  Lady  Avanel,  and  he  does  not  want 
to  seem  to  be  speaking  of  her.  But  he 
says  that  these  Singaporians  are  as  afraid 
of  white  as  the  native  soldiers  of  the 
Indian  mutiny  were  afraid  of  breaking  cast 
in  their  fashion,  or  the  Egyptians  were,— 
which  enabled  Cambyses  to  defeat  them  by 
heading  his  procession  against  them  with  a 
small  and  famous  army  of  kittens.  He  says 
they  are  as  afraid  of  white  as  the  negroes  of 
the  South  were  afraid  of  it,  which  enabled  the 
Klu  Klux  to  send  them  scattering.  It  is  no 
idle  fancy  of  his  that  these  people  are  as 
superstitious  as  the  blacks  of  the  old  days. 
He  says  that  in  the  last  war  of  the  World  Gov 
ernment  against  the  rebels  of  Asia,  where 
Chinese,  Japanese  and  Americans  won  so 
great  a  victory  for  world  unity,  there  were  a 


240      THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

few  Singaporians  among  the  rebels,  de 
nounced  by  the  Singaporian  high  priests,  but 
these  rebels  seemed  secretly  authorized,  and 
they  had  the  typical  lens  gun  equipment  and 
the  complete  cocaine  soul.  And  Boone  tells 
what  is  evidently  a  familiar  story,  how  one  of 
the  Springfield  Amazons  found  a  mysterious 
white  pony  on  the  battlefield,  after  her  own 
had  been  shot  under  her.  .She  rode  him  to  the 
front  line  and  drove  a  whole  company  of  those 
cocaine  fiends  in  flight,  lens  guns  and  all,  with 
nothing  in  her  hand  but  her  Michael-forged 
blade.  Boone  says  the  Singaporians  hate 
white  because  it  is  the  color  of  truth  and  day 
time  and  decency,  and  as  for  him,  if  he  had 
had  his  way  he  would  have  painted  every 
tower  of  this  World >s  Fair  white,  and  the 
inner  and  outer  walls  of  the  city  white,  to 
keep  out  the  Singaporian  spies  and  mission 
aries,  but  Slick  Slack  Kopensky  and  Mayo 
Sims  won  a  victory  for  the  present  color 
scheme. 

Then  young  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the 
Third,  to  keep  himself  right  with  his  friends, 
throws  off  his  coat,  and  goes  forward  in 
the  bricklayer's  clothes  he  has  been  wearing 
beneath.  As  a  former  High  School  student- 
bricklayer  and  one  often  practicing  that  pro 
fession  still,  he  pledges  himself  to  go  out  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  241 

work  one  of  the  bricklaying  machines,  or  use 
the  old  fashioned  trowel,  as  is  needed,  until 
the  Fair  buildings  are  done.  And  he  calls  for 
volunteers  to  join  him,  and  many  of  the  gay 
young  bloods  do  so  at  once. 

So  this  evening  as  I  serve  the  black  Siamese 
wine  to  the  Man  from  Singapore  and  his 
daughter,  and  I  stand  respectfully  at  her  left 
hand,  and  give  my  report  while  her  wonder 
ful  smiles  come  and  go,  she  clasps  her  hands 
and  tries  to  be  gay  over  old  Boone.  But  her 
eyes  are  tragic  pools,  indeed,  when  I  speak  of 
her  lover,  and  of  the  evident  conflict  in  his 
heart.  And  now  it  is  her  father's  turn  to 
laugh  and  try  to  shift  her  mood. 

"They  blame  me  with  their  own  petty  do 
ings  and  are  always  suspicious  at  the  wrong 
time.  They  never  know  when  I  am  fighting 
the  real  tigers  in  the  holy  cause  of  our  High 
Priests.  Not  as  a  Singaporian,  but  as  a  man, 
I  am  going  to  give  this  town  a  blow  with  my 
left  hand.  One  more  word  from  that  baby,  that 
bawling  Boone,  holding  me  in  contempt,  and 
then  let  him  look  to  himself.  It  is  done  more 
simply  than  he  knows.  The  distrust  of  all 
leaders  of  every  faction  from  Mayo  Sims  to 
Boone  is  growing  every  hour.  Even  those 
leaders  love  a  lynching,  if  it  removes  an  en 
emy.  They  went  to  the  funeral  of  Surto  Hur- 


242  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

denburg  for  respectability's  sake,  not  to 
mourn  him.  Not  one  of  all  the  City  Council 
or  the  Board  of  Education  put  in  an  extra 
hour  seeing  that  his  lynchers  were  brought 
to  trial.  They  are  all  lynchers  and  one  needs 
hardly  to  accelerate  their  natural  gait  a  bit, 
but  only  to  fail  to  warn  them  of  what  their 
own  may  do.  Certainly  the  Board  of  Edu 
cation  would  be  insulted  if  they  knew  that 
Sims  and  Kopensky  are  as  alien  and  unknown 
to  us  as  are  Boone  and  Saint  Friend.  If  they 
are  putting  on  their  fights  to  edify  us,  the 
attempt  is  a  failure.  I  sincerely  hope  that 
Sims  and  Kopensky  and  Boone  are  hanged  by 
their  adoring  citizens  side  by  side  on  the  same 
tree.  But  Montague  Rock,  I  hope,  will  be 
spared  to  us.  He  is  a  fine  paw.  I  will  tell  you 
that  much,  little  Mara." 


CHAPTER  XV 

HOW  AS  A  MALAY  I  WITNESS  THE  CONVERSION  OF 

YOUNG  KOPENSKY  TO  THE  COCAINE  BUDDHA, 

LATER  WHEN  I  AM  MY  AMERICAN  SELF 

THE  THIBETAN  BOY  TAKES  ME 

BEYOND  THE  NORTH  STAR 

AND  SHOWS  ME  THE 

TRUE  BUDDHA. 

July  6,  2018: — This  afternoon  Mara  sends 
me  to  find  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the 
Third,  and  report  once  more.  I  discover  that 
he  has  been  at  work  according  to  his  pledge, 
and  with  a  bricklaying  machine.  There  are 
more  than  enough,  both  of  machines  and 
Springfield  workers  to  complete  the  Street 
of  Past  History  on  time. 

And  so,  this  evening,  the  Kling  beauty 
dawdles  through  her  black  wine  and  cigar 
ettes  looking  at  her  father  with  an  indulgent 
and  patronizing  squint,  completely  at  ease  in 
the  possession  of  his  heart.  Though  with  so 
many  other  strains  of  ancestry,  the  Malay 
manner  predominates  tonight,  in  her  as  in 
him,  an  outer  appearance  of  super  languor, 
a  suggestion  of  nerve  force  accumulating 

243 


244  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

through  long  seasons,  to  be  discharged  in  one 
day  of  supreme  achievement,  or  of  "running 
amuck. ' ' 

Suddenly  Mara  asks  her  father,  as  though 
to  plague  him  all  she  dares  and  startle  him 
from  his  languor:  "How  do  I  differ  from 
Avanel  Boone?  We  are,  for  instance,  the 
same  age."  He  answers  without  a  quiver: 
"She  is  a  worthy  daughter  of  Black  Hawk 
Boone,  except  that  she  will  not  dye  her  left 
hand  or  wear  her  hair  on  her  shoulders,  and 
you  are  a  worthy  daughter  of  your  father, 
except  that  you  like  to  quiz." 

And  she  opens  her  eyes  and  they  seem  the 
wide  gates  of  his  Prophet  ?s  heaven.  And  they 
have,  to  him,  all  the  dewiness  of  honest  youth. 
She  asks  with  earnestness: — 

"But  how  do  we  differ?" 

He  defies  those  eyes.  He  says:  "Both  have 
dark  hair,  but  AvanePs  is  straight  like  that 
of  the  Japanese,  and  yours  is  a  storm  cloud 
about  your  head. 

"But  how  do  we  differ?  You  need  not  deny 
you  have  studied  that  girl  like  a  book.  I  have 
seen  you  watching  her  as  though  she  were  a 
growing  scorpion,  looking  her  over  and  over, 
at  the  Gordon  Craig  Theatre. 

"She  is  no  scorpion,  but  an  artless  child. 
Her  eyes  are  blue.  Your  eyes  are  black. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  245 

AvanePs  skin  is  white  and  rose.  You  are  more 
golden  than  any  coin  or  any  sunrise.  That  is 
the  difference. "  And  he  smiles  with  an  air 
of  mock  finality. 

But  there  is  more  difference  and  my  Ameri- 
can  soul  fights  my  Malay  body  and  mind,  as 
I  apprehend  this  distinction,  while  they  argue 
of  other  matters.  I  find  torturing  the  very 
depths  of  me,  that  which  loves  Avanel,  though 
I  lie  in  this  Malay  grave.  Yet  the  comparison 
is  not  all  to  the  advantage  of  the  daughter  of 
Boone. 

Avanel  follows  the  most  conventional  of 
Vanity  Fair  and  Vogue  fashion  plates,  when 
not  a  marching,  dancing  priestess  or  an  eques 
trienne  in  white.  The  Kling  beauty  is  in  her 
library  or  in  her  palanquin  wrapped  in  end 
less  easy  swathings  of  green  silk  from  breast 
to  knee.  Her  bare  shoulders  and  knees  and 
feet  and  hands  are  her  father's  pride.  He 
thinks  there  is  nothing  like  their  slender 
modelling  in  all  the  west.  She  is  a  singer  with 
the  Borneo  harp.  Avanel  in  her  life  as  a  reli 
gious  dancer  and  leader  of  maiden  cavalry 
and  of  the  Horseshoe  Brotherhood,  is  an  un- 
maidenly  horror  to  Mara,  who  prides  herself 
on  her  seclusion.  AvanePs  omnipresence  on 
the  streets,  as  the  town  heroine,  seems  to 
Mara  America's  most  complete  scandal. 


246  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Yet  Mara  has  often  been  out  in  her  palan 
quin,  behind  that  of  her  father,  ostensibly  to 
please  him,  but  actually  to  see  if  by  chance 
this  hated  Avanel  will  go  by.  And  she  has 
brooded  in  seclusion  over  Avanel  as  much  as 
such  a  gentle  nature  can. 

Finally,  and  chiefly,  that  rare  mask,  the 
face  of  Mara  is  the  same  her  father  wears,  and 
so  is  half  a  world  away  from  the  open  counte 
nance  of  the  lady  who  carries  Daniel  Boone  's 
direct  ancestral  dagger.  Yet  there  are  things 
readable  in  the  Singaporian  countenances. 
The  sincere  passion  for  jungle  beauty  re 
vealed  in  the  face  of  Mara  can  be  discerned. 
The  Asiatic  necromancy,  the  instinct  for  intri 
gue,  is  hidden  by  the  innocence  of  the  experi 
ences  of  her  sheltered  days,  and  also,  as  in 
the  face  of  her  really  wicked  father,  it  is  hid 
den  by  that  University  air  of  submitting  ab 
solutely  to  the  open  finalities  of  scholarship. 
And  so  they  will  often  submit,  where  Singa 
pore  is  not  concerned.  But  one  would  say  all 
Mara's  scholars  are  poets  to  her,  and  of  her 
father  all  his  scholars  are  statesmen.  Each  is 
the  other 's  flattering  image.  Each  is  disarmed 
in  the  presence  of  the  other,  artless  and  fond 
and  kind. 

She  continues  this  evening  by  talking 
frankly  with  her  father  about  her  suitors.  I 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  247 

am  as  a  well  worn  article  of  furniture.  My 
ears  do  not  trouble  her.  Are  we  not  all  mem 
bers  of  the  order  that  has  sworn  in  a  great 
whisper  to  conquer  the  world  in  the  name  of 
the  holy  green  glass  image  that  dwells  in  the 
temple  on  the  far  off  Baffles  plain  ? 

She  asks  her  father  which  man  will  be  of 
the  greater  service  to  Our  Lord  of  Cocaine? 
Will  it  be  the  son  of  Slick  Slack  Kopensky, 
Crawling  Jim: — or  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael, 
the  Third,  who  thinks  he  has  converted  my 
good  mistress  to  Mary  of  Bethlehem  and  all 
the  saints  of  the  western  heaven.  Shall  she  do 
lip  service  to  his  faith,  when  he  is  present, 
till  the  day  of  all  days  when  Singapore  ceases 
to  whisper  and  comes  roaring  against  the 
world?  Or  shall  she  take  Crawling  Jim  for 
all  time? 

She  is  remarkably  interested  in  both  men. 
I  am  all  curiosity  over  her  tenderness  for 
Jim.  She  calls  him  James.  To  be  sure,  he  has 
undertaken  a  perilous  thing  for  a  son  of 
Springfield.  He  has  already  discarded  the 
wearing  of  anything  white. 

July  7: — There  are  not  many  other  Singa- 
porians  in  the  city,  and  tonight  comes  an  all- 
Caucasian  party  except  for  servants,  host 
and  hostess.  My  amazement  about  Mara 's  at- 


248  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

titude  toward  James  now  ceases.  In  this  com 
pany  he  is  a  new  creature. 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  come  in  for 
initiation  into  that  curiosity,  a  Sumatra  chess 
game  are  many  of  them  Jim's  most  devoted 
henchmen  in  Jim's  presumably  highly  demo 
cratic  and  now  triumphant  E-obin  Redbreast 
Aviation  Club.  They  were  deft  enough  to 
capture  the  club  for  him.  They  are  people 
of  breeding  and  assurance.  As  long  as  it  ex 
isted,  at  the  house  of  the  Mythical  Veleska 
the  most  famous  yellow  dance  hall,  they  set 
the  pace.  Tonight  they  talk  openly  of  their 
jolly  little  lynching  of  Surto  Hurdenburg. 
They  talk  of  how  to  bring  back  to  town  all 
the  malcontents  who  have  left  because  of  the 
suppression  of  the  Yellow  Halls.  They  speak 
of  them  as  martyrs  and  heroes.  And  then 
they  talk  as  though  they  will  leave  also.  With 
scarcely  an  exception  they  belong  to  Spring 
field's  senior  families,  many  of  whom  have 
been  here  as  long  as  the  Boones,  and  some 
of  them  before  the  Michaels.  Scions  of  the 
house  of  Montague  Rock  are  among  them,  in 
cluding  Montague  Rock,  Junior. 

By  their  voices  and  a  thousand  impalpable 
signs  I  know  that,  with  scarcely  an  exception, 
they  have  been  educated  out  of  town  at  male 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  249 

and  female  finishing  schools,  on  funds  or 
power  secured  by  the  secret  sale  of  their  he 
reditary  buried  gold  and  buried  alcohol.  These 
schools  are,  obviously,  the  last  stand  of 
American  plutocracy,  that  has  grown  most 
subtle  in  what  appears  to  be  its  final  battle. 
Here,  at  this  party  among  friends,  with  no 
spies,  and  in  perfect  confidence,  they  use  with 
an  exaggerated  freedom  all  the  secret  codes, 
passwords,  and  hints  of  manner  that  indicate 
the  hidden  masters  of  the  land,  the  tribes 
with  buried  gold  and  buried  alcohol. 

They  are  well  grounded  in  the  main  books 
of  plutocratic  and  alcoholic  apologetics,  one 
of  which  has  been  written  by  a  fellow  towns 
man,  and  it  appears  today,  in  Coe's  Book 
Store: — "The  Graces  of  Bacchus  and  Mam 
mon  "  by  Doctor  Mayo  Sims.  Every  poet, 
architect,  artist,  or  musician  who  in  any 
fine  indirect  way  licks  the  boots  of  money,  or 
sings  sweetly  of  strong  drink,  has  their  ap 
proval.  Many  such  craftsmen  have  been  in 
duced  by  gentle  means  to  drop  a  delicate 
word  for  Singapore  as  the  ultimate  land  of 
real  aristocracy,  and  dangerous  but  marvel- 
ously  inspiring  cocaine. 

Mara's  guests  have  been  taught  in  these 
out  of  town  schools  to  hate  our  educational 


250  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

system  from  the  World's  Fair  of  our  Univer 
sity  down  to  the  first  grade,  ward  school.  They 
are  taught  in  their  male  and  female  finishing 
schools  that  the  whole  city  of  Springfield  and 
all  such  cities  are  infamously  democratic. 
These  children  are  taught  they  must  not 
let  one  tone  of  voice  indicate  anything  more 
than  a  suffering  tolerance  of  that  system  of 
which,  in  this  city,  Black  Hawk  Boone  is  the 
official  head. 

As  the  evening  progresses,  all  this  crowd 
gaily  says  that  Jim's  luck  in  aviation  holds 
in  Sumatra  chess,  and  the  ladies  whisper  in 
their  delicate  fashion  that  they  hope  he  stays 
lucky  when  it  comes  to  love. 

Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third,  enters 
late.  He  says  he  is  tired  from  bricklaying  and 
slumps  into  the  most  conspicuous  chair  like 
a  second  rate  actor's  idea  of  a  martyr  to  pa 
triotism.  Michael,  the  Third,  will  not  play 
Sumatra  or  any  other  chess.  He  will  not  bet 
on  any  other  man's  chess  playing.  He  glares 
at  the  merry  Jim,  or  in  his  general  direction. 
He  stalks  around,  like  a  stork  at  a  dinner  of 
foxes. 

The  crowd  thins  out,  and  at  length  the  two 
men  are  left  with  Mara,  because  J.  B.  Michael, 
the  Third,  has  not  sense  enough  to  go.  She 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  251 

has  given  Jim  Kopensky  every  sign  and  Mi 
chael,  the  Third,  no  signs  at  all. 

She  wants  this  exquisite  scion  of  the  Black 
smith  clan  to  play  the  game,  and  take  his 
chance.  But  he  is  more  at  ease  in  his  patriotic 
overalls,  laying  bricks  to  hurry  up  the  final 
official  opening  of  the  Fair,  and  the  Street  of 
Past  History. 

So  she  helps  Kopensky  to  back  Michael 
to  the  door,  which  is  done  by  a  simple  pro 
cess  of  walking  toward  him  with  a  certain  air. 

He  is  overwhelmed  at  Jim's  assurance  and 
vital  power.  But  Jim  is  one  of  those  whom 
love  makes  a  man  for  an  hour  in  a  lifetime. 
As  I  open  the  door  for  the  exquisite  Michael, 
I  divine  Mara 's  pity  for  him.  But  what  can  a 
woman  do?  No  proud  Singaporian  can  have 
mercy  on  an  unmagnetic  fool.  It  is  not  a  con 
spiracy  against  the  loser.  It  is  an  elemental 
contest.  This  red  oriental  heart  is  for  the 
man  who  wins  this  doorstep  fight.  Eeligion 
and  destiny  wait.  And  J.  B.  Michael,  the 
Third,  of  his  own  weakness  goes  out  the  door 
in  defeat. 

But  Mara,  having,  without  an  uttered  word, 
chosen  this  James  Kopensky  for  what  she 
can  make  of  him,  turns  at  once  to  the  cocaine 
Buddha  around  the  corner  of  the  hall.  Relig 
ion  comes  next. 


252  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

The  triumphant  Jim  follows  her  thought. 
He  takes  a  candle  from  the  table.  He  holds  it 
in  front  of  the  august  image,  that  seems  to 
him  more  like  green  air  than  glass.  He  bows, 
the  complete  devotee  before  that  ironical  god 
whose  doctrines  are  absurd,  even  to  me, 
though  I  am  for  a  season  in  a  Malay  mind. 
But  what  doctrines  are  not  absurd  to  that 
soul  that  refuses  to  receive  them? 

Jim  blows  out  the  candle,  and  with  it  his 
former  life,  and,  in  intention,  every  western 
desire,  and  all  for  the  glory  of  the  holy  islands 
of  southeast  Asia.  He  relights  the  candle  at 
a  taller  one  that  is  burning  in  front  of  the 
image. 

Just  then  a  telegram  comes.  Later  I  am 
reproved  for  letting  the  boy  make  the  turn  in 
the  hall  that  enables  him  to  see  Crawling  Jim 
light  the  candle.  It  is  a  real  telegram,  that 
has  to  do  with  an  out-of-town  lecture  to  be 
given  by  the  Man  from  Singapore,  on  "The 
Republic  of  Letters. "  And  so  the  lord  of  the 
house  comes  in  for  it,  reads  it,  and  signs.  The 
boy  is  not  hustled  to  the  door.  He  lingers. 
Our  little  ceremony  is  quite  interrupted. 

At  last  the  slow  youth  goes.  He  is  the  son 
of  a  Japanese  Industrial  Commissioner  to  the 
World 's  Fair.  It  seems  that  this  man  and  the 
Chinese  Commissioner  are  sufficiently  Asiatic 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  253 

to  understand  my  master,  and  their  subter 
ranean  feud  with  him  and  his  ally,  Old  Monta 
gue  Eock,  never  has  an  end.  The  Man  from 
Singapore  says:  "They  must  have  had  their 
spy  at  the  party  tonight.  And  this  telegram 
has  been  delayed  as  part  of  their  game. ' ' 

And  so,  soon  after,  the  flustered  Jim  bids 
his  lady  a  devout  good  evening. 

July  8: — Mara  has  been  nervous  about  the 
Springfield  fortunes  of  her  accepted  suitor 
all  day,  but  he  reports  this  evening  that  there 
is  no  cause  for  apprehension,  that  he  has  not 
noted  one  more  fluttering  eyelid  than  usual 
to-day.  He  is  still  in  place,  in  Springfield. 

Then  Mara  makes  ardent  haste  to  talk  with 
Jim  of  the  religion  into  which  he  took  a  deci 
sive,  if  interrupted,  first  step  last  evening. 
There  is  a  bit  of  a  suppressed  strain  and  the 
harshness  of  argument  in  her  voice,  as  though 
she  were  debating  with  all  Springfield,  though 
Springfield  is  not  here.  She  is  showing  Jim 
that  the  Singaporian  aversion  to  white,  color 
less  things,  is  in  no  way  unreasonable,  since 
the  religion  was  born  in  a  sweet  shadowed 
jungle.  The  whitest  thing  to  be  found  in  such 
a  woods  is  the  patch  of  dried  grass  in  the 
opening  of  the  trees  under  the  blasting  rays 
of  the  noonday  sun.  The  living  creature  who 
lingers  there  must  die.  The  prophet  had 


254  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

talked  so  long  to  the  religious  beasts  that  he 
learned  the  inner  wisdom  of  this  fear.  By  lis 
tening  long  to  their  stories  and  their  teach 
ings,  white  came  to  mean  the  death  of  the  soul 
to  him.  When  he  returned  to  Singapore  and 
preached  his  first  sermon  that  shadowy  eve 
ning  on  the  Baffles  plain,  proclaiming  the 
religion  of  night,  the  religion  of  prowling, 
of  rich  wines  and  sweeping  hanging  moss, 
he  gave  them  the  Holy  Green  Glass  Idol, 
and  extended  the  doctrine  of  the  fear  of 
whiteness.  It  was  there  revealed  to  him, 
as  he  spoke  with  inspiration,  that  the 
whiter  the  silver,  the  whiter  the  horse,  the 
whiter  the  armor,  the  whiter  the  plume,  the 
more  dangerous  the  foe.  And  so  Mara  assures 
Jim  that  all  the  deadliest  enemies  of  the  faith 
will  come  in  the  open  noonday,  dressed  in 
white.  If  Singapore  conquers  all  things  white, 
and  all  the  noonday  races  of  men  it  will  win 
the  world.  If  once  it  falls  before  an  army  in 
white,  it  will  be  utterly  annihilated,  and  the 
Holy  Eeligion  of  Cocaine  will  perish  from 
the  earth. 

Mara  asks  Crawling  Jim  if  this  is  not  per 
fectly  reasonable,  as  doctrine  and  as  proph 
ecy.  He  falls  before  her.  He  embraces  her 
golden  knees  with  his  crazy  arms.  He  says 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  255 

it  is  perfectly  reasonable,  as  doctrine  and  as 
prophecy. 

But  she  lifts  him  up  and  she  preaches  and 
kisses  away  the  hours,  like  any  devout  lady 
in  like  case. 

July  9: — Mara  is  saying  to  Jim  this  eve 
ning  that  while  in  the  by  streets  of  her  holy 
city  among  the  dregs  of  the  world's  popula 
tion,  much  cocaine  is  taken,  in  the  presence  of 
grotesque  libels  of  the  Green  Glass  Buddha, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  is  a  degenerate  form 
of  the  religion.  It  is  well  enough  since  it  keeps 
the  outcasts  happy  and  in  subjection,  more 
easily  led,  yet  fierce  in  battle  like  the  old 
hashish-eating  assassins.  But  the  esoteric, 
the  masters,  do  not  take  cocaine.  She  speaks 
lovingly  of  the  Green  Glass  Buddha,  but  say 
ing  finally  of  him,  with  the  University  Tone 
of  Voice,  that  he  is  the  god  of  wine.  Like 
Dionysius  he  is  especially  the  inspiration  of 
the  drama  and  all  the  arts  that  gather  round 
it.  Upon  those  patrons  of  drugs,  the  two 
greatest  civilizations  have  been  founded  and 
the  fairest  catalogue  of  the  arts. 

It  seems  to  me  this  evening,  that  the  lessons 
are  done.  Mara  has  called  to  me  to  go  for 
her  father.  I  have  ushered  him  into  the  room, 
and  he  is  receiving  Jim,  the  son  of  the  Mayor 


256  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

of  Springfield,  as  his  own  son.  The  Man  from 
Singapore  takes  on  a  manner  Jim  has  never 
seen.  There  are  tears  in  his  carved  eyes.  He 
is  the  headlong  devotee  in  the  infatuation  of 
proselyting. 

He  tells  Jim  that  those  who  are  faithful 
take  on  the  soul  of  the  holy  green  glass  idol, 
which  was  long  ago  the  pure  and  transparent 
spirit  of  the  first  king  of  the  boa  constrictors, 
who,  it  is  recorded,  ruled  his  tribe  in  integrity 
and  crystal  honor.  It  is  in  his  service  that 
Singapore  goes  forth  to  choke  the  earth. 
From  the  god  of  glass  emanate  rays  of  psy 
chic  force  that  extend  world  wide,  and  give 
his  followers  spiritual  eyes  so  they  can  do 
battle  for  him  in  the  forest  of  Christianity  and 
civilization.  The  war  is  really  between  these 
faithful  ones  and  the  tiger  souls  that  infest 
the  jungle.  The  vendetta  of  the  serpents 
against  the  tigers  has  gone  on  through  the 
ages  since  before  there  were  men.  It  will  not 
be  ended  till  all  the  tigers  are  gone  and  the 
Great  Boa  Constrictor  swallows  the  world  as 
though  it  were  a  rabbit. 

The  Man  from  Singapore  says  that  the 
tigers  feed  on  all  men  from  wantonness,  while 
the  serpents  kill  only  those  who  interfere  with 
the  spread  of  their  beneficent  kingdom  and 
eat  only  when  hungry.  Before  the  eyes  of  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  257 

true  priests  of  the  serpent,  all  buildings  turn 
to  forest  trees  and  all  shadows  to  forest 
boughs,  and  all  men  to  serpents  or  tigers  or 
some  neutral  beasts.  Thus  we  know  our  most 
dangerous  foes.  These  are  not  necessarily  the 
men  who  curse  us.  They  are  often  our  in 
tended  friends,  but  actually  in  the  way  of  the 
God  of  Glass.  Thus  there  is  no  real  serpent 
among  the  citizens  of  Springfield  but  Monta 
gue  Eock.  He  is  indeed  a  good  Singaporian. 
All  the  other  men  in  power,  be  they  friends  or 
foes  in  the  open,  are  tigers  alike.  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  at  the  seat  of 
World  Government,  is  the  worst  tiger  of  all. 
He  is  proscribed  and  doomed. 

The  Man  from  Singapore  eyes  Jim  steadily 
and  continues: — "Does  that  seem  reasonable 
to  you?  And  does  all  I  have  said  seem  clear, 
logical,  infallibly  convincing  ?" 

Jim  takes  the  hand  of  this  man  and  says 
it  is  absolutely  convincing.  I  note  that  Jim 
looks  like  a  composite  portrait  of  the  heirs 
apparent  of  all  the  thrones  left  in  Europe,  a 
weak  and  pasty  fool,  but  lit  up  by  love. 

July  10: — Crawling  Jim  lives  but  in  the 
eyes  of  Mara.  Everything  Singaporian  is 
reasonable  while  she  smiles,  and  it  is  all  rea 
sonable  to  her.  This  doctrine  of  swallowing 
the  world  seems  merciful  because  "father" 


258  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

says  it  is.  And  Jim  seems  to  her  like  a  man. 
He  is  aflame  with  desire,  such  as  only  the 
daughter  of  her  voluptuous  and  gentle  mother 
could  provoke,  and  only  such  a  strong  soul  as 
hers  could  harness.  He  is  a  mirror,  pouring 
back  the  rays  of  her  own  romantic  glory,  and 
she  knows  it  not.  She  is  incredibly  happy,  for 
she  thinks  she  has  done  a  good  stroke  for 
Singapore  and  her  own  heart.  I,  even  as  a 
Malay,  am  stirred  with  a  great  pity  for  her. 

Her  father,  also,  sees  Jim  as  a  hero.  The 
serpent  Buddha  has  not  made  this  man  and 
his  daughter  infallible. 

July  11 : — Mara  is  near  the  window  looking 
out  through  the  black  velvet  hangings,  watch 
ing  for  Jim,  though  it  is  not  time  for  him  to 
call.  Meanwhile  there  is  indeed  an  interrup 
tion  to  her  fancies,  she  utters  not  a  word,  she 
does  not  flinch,  while  there  comes  north  on 
Mulberry  Boulevard  Avanel  Boone  and  her 
maiden  cavalry. 

They  are  going  toward  the  grave  of  Hunter 
Kelly,  to  take  part  in  the  solemn  festival  in 
the  groves  there,  and  along  the  great  North 
west  Road,  the  festival  in  celebration  of  the 
planting  of  the  first  Amaranth  orchard  there. 
The  girls  go  by  like  a  white  whirlwind* 
and  they  give  the  old  Springfield  cry  used 
in  battle  in  Asia  by  their  mothers  who 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  259 

were  young  amazons  before  them.  It  shrieks 
and  screams  and  sings  down  the  street: 
"Springfield  Awake!  Springfield  Aflame! " 
They  know  they  are  going  by  the  house  of 
Mara  of  Singapore  but  not  one  eye  turns 
her  way.  But  the  swords,  the  swords,  the 
Damascus  blades,  are  hissing  and  glittering 
in  the  air.  And  the  Man  from  Singapore,  ap 
parently  intent  upon  his  affairs  does  not 
turn  to  look  out  of  the  window  of  the  book 
room.  He  does  not  so  much  as  look  up  from 
his  book  of  Malay  lyrics.  He  utters  one 
phrase:  "The  Cats  of  Cambyses,  if  we  are  to 
take  Black  Hawk  Boone  at  his  word/' 

I  am  temporarily  of  the  Singaporians,  in 
my  way.  I  have  their  poisoned  eyes,  it  seems. 
So,  while  I  have  watched,  horse  and  rider 
have  faded  into  something  new  and  strange. 
They  go  by  in  semblance  as  beautiful  white 
tigers. 

But  what  of  Mara,  who  regards  me  as  an 
article  of  furniture?  What  has  she  seen?  Ap 
parently  nothing  but  Springfield  girls  on  a 
wild,  lovely,  sweet,  shrieking  revel  to  which 
she  has  not  been  invited.  She  feels  i  i  snubbed. ' ' 
She  is  lonely,  weary,  in  this  house  and  city, 
though  she  has  a  lover  and  a  convert  coming 
within  the  hour. 

For,  after  these  girls  have  gone  by,  she 


260  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

turns  to  the  Cocaine  Buddha.  She  bows  with 
hands  and  arms  outspread.  Hers  is  a  strange 
cry  and  prayer: — 

"Master  of  the  World,  tell  me,  am  I  more 
beautiful  than  Avanel  Boonef " 

Which  proves  to  me  that  Mara  is  only  a 
girl. 

July  12: — I  find  myself  in  all  respects  an 
American  citizen  of  Springfield,  Illinois,  to 
day,  as  of  old.  The  hours  with  Mara  and  her 
father  are  as  a  "tale  of  little  meaning,  though 
the  words  are  strong. "  As  I  wander  through 
a  July  rain  in  our  streets,  and  parks,  many 
vague  hands  seem  stretched  from  the  ground, 
catching  me  by  the  heels. 

It  is  much  later  in  the  afternoon.  The  storm 
is  gone,  and  I  am  walking  with  the  lady 
Avanel,  and  she  has  looked  into  my  eyes  and 
given  me  my  life  again. 

We  confess  to  one  another  that  these  days 
are  certainly  not  the  millennium,  that  many 
of  them  are  as  grotesque  as  the  early  geo 
logic  ages,  that  had  their  monster  sloths  and 
lizards  big  as  whales,  and  what  you  will. 
Avanel  says  with  her  happy  laughter:  "Let 
no  man  declare  that  the  end  of  time  is  soon 
approaching. ' ' 

The  lady  Avanel  has  sometimes  what  might 
be  called  the  mood  of  butterfly  wings,  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  261 

this  afternoon,  as  we  go  further  north 
across  the  fields,  we  are  suddenly  walking 
on  a  crimson  cloud  a  little  above  the  trees 
and  then  that  cloud  on  its  borders  takes  on 
slowly,  first  from  the  edges,  the  aspect  of  the 
wings  of  a  giant  butterfly  whose  body  is  at 
last  the  raft  on  which  we  stand  and  ride. 
And  toward  the  North  Star  we  go,  and  when 
we  reach  it,  there  sits  a  most  grotesque 
and  turtle-headed  dwarf  that  Avanel  calls  a 
gnome.  The  North  Star  is  really  a  hill  of 
dandelions,  and  the  dwarf  is  sitting  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill. 

We  dismount  from  our  cloud  and  the  dwarf 
goes  with  us  down  a  corridor  in  the  hill. 
There  are  on  one  side  mirrors  where  details 
are  dimmed,  where  only  big  clear  outlines  of 
a  possible  new  Springfield  are  shown,  and 
near  by  are  shown  plans  for  other  similar  vil 
lages  in  the  world.  On  the  other  side  are 
mirrors  into  which  we  look  and  see  greatly 
magnified  the  raw  machinery  of  a  possible 
Springfield  in  sections  that  any  one  can  un 
derstand.  Then  we  speed  along  through  the 
passageway  and  at  last  come  through  and  see 
the  light  of  the  north  sky  on  the  other  side 
of  that  gorgeous  dandelion  hill. 

The  hill  seems  to  be  on  the  very  edge  of 
things,  and  though  it  has  much  of  the  aspect 


262  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

of  that  place  to  the  east  where  I  saw  the  Great 
Palace  of  Eve,  once  upon  a  time,  the  Dwarf 
calls  this  present  cliff  disrespectfully:  "The 
Jumping-off  Place. "  And  Avanel  seems 
amused  and  exhilarated.  But  waves  of  outer 
darkness,  into  which  I  have  looked  so  often, 
dash  upon  the  cliff. 

The  Dwarf  says:  "This  particular  Jump 
ing-off  Place  is  one  of  the  principal  suburbs 
of  Springfield,  and  I  have  seen  all  kinds  of 
Springfield  people  and  dreams  jump  off 
here/' 

Then,  while  we  wait  interminably,  the 
gnome  lets  down  an  iron  bucket  by  a  long 
rope,  and  brings  it  up  full  of  the  per 
petually  burning  soul  bones  of  animals,  men, 
and  dreams  that  have  jumped  off.  He  says: 
"We  live  by  the  death  of  these. "  And  he 
gathers  the  flames  off  the  top  as  though  they 
were  burning  flowers  and  his  hands  were  iron. 
And  he  pours  the  bones  back  with  a  great 
thunder  into  the  deep  of  the  Jumping-off 
Place.  Then  he  eats  of  the  terrible  burning 
petals  and  makes  us  eat  them.  Then  he  leads 
us  back  through  the  corridors  and  we  seem 
to  have  been  given  eyes  to  see  and  remember 
every  detail  of  the  microscopic  cross  section 
of  Springfield  and  he  sends  us  back  riding  on 
the  butterfly  cloud,  and  enjoins  the  Lady 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD      263 

Avanel  to  help  in  the  building  of  Springfield, 
day  after  day. 

July  13:— Today  I  meet  the  Thibetan  Boy 
in  Coe  's  Book  Store.  We  are  both  rather  aim 
lessly  turning  over  the  magazines,  and,  after 
I  have  observed  his  idleness  awhile,  I  take  him 
out  for  a  walk  and  say:  "Why  do  you  look 
at  me  when  you  pass,  with  your  eyes  a  story 
untold?  All  the  while  I  have  walked  the 
streets  of  this  New  Springfield,  you  have 
looked  at  me  so. 

He  answers  slowly,  almost  whispering:— 

"Your  fathers  came  from  the  ancient 
Christian  world.  My  fathers  came  from  the 
more  ancient  Buddhist  world.  Christ  is  my 
master  but  I  cannot  deny  that  Buddha  is  my 
friend.  This  is  the  hour  for  friends.  Come 
with  me. '  '  We  walk  north  on  Mulberry  Boule 
vard,  past  the  House  of  the  Man  from  Singa 
pore,  and  then  west  on  Carpenter  toward  a 
little  highway  that  finally  joins  the  great 
Northwest  Road.  But  we  have  not  gone  far 
on  the  Great  Northwest  Eoad  till  we  flash 
past  the  Gothic  double  walls  of  our  city. 

The  Thibetan  Boy  takes  me,  in  one  in 
stant,  to  the  far  edge  of  Space  and  Time, 
way  beyond  the  North  Star  and  its  dande 
lions.  And  as  we  stand  on  the  shaking  shore 
of  Space  and  Time  we  see  and  hear,  rolling  in 


264  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

from  Chaos,  endless  smoke  and  glory  and 
darkness  and  dissolving  foam.  Standing  be 
side  us,  like  a  superb  Gandhara  sculpture 
that  has  taken  on  life  is  that  Prince  Siddartha 
who  was  the  founder  of  Buddhism.  He  stands 
in  that  aspect  he  had,  while  still  a  citizen 
and  householder,  and  twenty-four  centuries 
before  his  green  glass  libel  cursed  mankind. 

Before  us  is,  indeed,  a  vision  of  Buddha  the 
dreamer,  superb,  thoroughbred,  in  all  the 
jewels  of  his  tribe.  It  is  the  hour  before  he 
took  chariot  and  drove  forth  from  home.  We 
are  back  in  that  hour  when  he  looked  upon  all 
things,  and  saw  them  as  a  dissolving  foam, 
the  hour  before  he  set  forth  for  his  victory 
over  this  crumbling  universe.  His  eyes  are 
fixed  upon  those  waves  that  roll  in  forever, 
that  keep  their  forms  an  instant,  and  are 
gone  for  all  time:  some  of  men,  some  of 
wraiths  and  gods,  some  of  planets  and  comets 
and  suns. 

He  turns  around  and  beckons  and  over  the 
sand  comes  Channa,  the  superb  charioteer, 
and  the  horses  of  that  chariot  are  nobler  than 
the  horses  of  the  sun.  Prince  Siddartha  is  in 
the  chariot  in  an  instant  and  they  drive  out 
into  that  sea  and  the  wheels  of  that  chariot 
ride  the  waves.  Those  horses  are  like  light 
ning,  climbing  waves  that  are  like  hills  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  265 

mountains,  till  chariot,  horses,  and  men  all 
are  veiled  by  the  endless  smoke  and  glory  and 
darkness  and  dissolving  foam.  The  Thibetan 
boy  says  to  me:  "It  is  the  ' Great  Going  Forth 
from  Home/  and  thus  Buddha  becomes  a 
conquerer,  and  Chaos  and  the  Universe  are 
put  beneath  him." 

But  the  star  chimes  behind  us  are  ringing 
new  tunes  and  we  are  back  in  our  city  again, 
leaving  Prince  Siddartha  to  conquer  what  he 
will. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE      RETURN      OF      SENATOR      JOSEPH      BARTHOLDI 

MICHAEL     FROM     THE     WORLD     GOVERNMENT     TO 

SPRINGFIELD.    HIS  CONVERSE  OF  HIGH  IMPORT 

WITH  A  JAPANESE  ELDER  STATESMAN  WHO 

IS  A  COMMISSIONER  TO  OUR  WORLD'S  FAIR. 

July  14,  2018: — The  regular  session  of  the 
World  Senate  has  ended,  and  all  the  talk  in 
the  coffee  houses  is  of  the  imminent  return 
of  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second, 
namesake  of  the  high  dandy  of  one  hundred 
years,  ago,  himself  a  reversion  to  tribe 
still  further,  in  that  he  is  a  replica  of  the 
Iron  Gentleman,  except  that  he  has  a  hot 
ter  temper  in  old  age,  which  makes  him  a 
most  tigerish  fighter  in  the  World  Senate. 

Today,  being  the  Iron  Gentleman's  birth 
day,  is  a  family  festival  with  the  Michaels 
and,  in  the  very  early  morning,  before  there 
are  any  passers  by,  the  leading  representa 
tives  of  the  family  are  hand  in  hand  in  silence 
around  the  original  forge  of  the  Iron  Gentle 
man,  for  a  little  while.  The  bellows  is  blow 
ing  and  the  fire  is  high  and  there  is  the 

266 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  267 

beginning  of  a  blade  in  the  flame,  for  they 
remember  that  he  has  said:  "I  will  return 
to  you  only  in  the  leaping  flame  of  the  forge 
fire."  Then  they  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer 
and  disperse,  before  the  town  is  awake,  leav 
ing,  according  to  custom,  one  man  to  finish 
the  blade,  at  his  leisure: — in  this  case  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third. 

St.  Friend,  the  Giver  of  Bread,  has  told  me 
that  the  Michaels  in  general  have  old  fash 
ioned  Bible  reading  in  their  homes,  with  old 
hymns  and  family  prayers,  every  morning  or 
evening  no  matter  what  pet  heresies  may  be 
running  through  the  tribe.  Not  many  of  them 
accept  the  formally  designed  altars  of  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Third,  they  have  left 
here  hammering  a  blade,  unless  they  are  di 
rect  fanatical  converts  to  the  Flower  Religion. 

This  evening  I  find  myself  one  of  a  party  in 
the  library  of  St.  Friend.  We  have  been 
given  an  uplifting  welcome  by  the  saint,  and 
the  Thibetan  Boy.  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael, 
the  Third,  the  non-entity  whose  fortunes  seem 
always  thrust  upon  me,  is  of  the  party.  Black 
Hawk  Boone  is  there.  Our  special  guest  is 
Sake  Shioya,  one  of  the  Elder  Statemen  of 
Japan,  and  in  America  because  he  is  head  of 
the  Department  of  Asiatic  Art  in  the  World's 
Fair  of  the  University  of  Springfield.  At 


268  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

home,  when  not  in  the  Japanese  Cabinet,  he 
is  professor  Sake  Shioya  of  the  Doshisha  Uni 
versity  of  Japan,  and  brother  of  Nataro 
Shioya,  the  leading  Japanese  representative 
in  the  Senate  of  the  World  Government. 

For  a  lifetime  the  brothers  have  shouted 
through  Japan:  "We  will  strike  off  the  head 
of  the  Singapore  Snake  with  the  Sword  of 
the  Samurai. "  St.  Friend  passes  round  the 
cigars  and,  himself,  sticks  to  his  corncob  pipe. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  we  are  under  the 
portrait  of  Alexander  Campbell  our  talk 
turns  to  religious  controversy.  St.  Friend 
says :  ' '  The  world  over,  Jew,  Catholic,  Protes 
tant,  used  to  hate  each  other  to  the  point  of 
slaughter,  though  all  spoke  the  name  of 
Abraham  and  several  other  patriarchs  with 
the  same  reverence,  and  invoked  Abraham's 
tribal  God.  Now  the  Marxians  of  the  world 
revere  Marx  and  Hegel  as  these  others  did 
Abraham  and  Jehovah,  but  the  only  way  to 
keep  them  from  cutting  each  other's  throats 
is  for  the  World  Government  to  stand  be 
tween  them." 

"Indeed  it  is  true,"  confirms  Shioya,  "The 
Purple  Flag  Marxians  of  Japan,  the  Yellow 
Flag  Marxians  of  China,  the  White  Flags  of 
Thibet,  the  Black  Flags  of  Russia,  the  Red 
Flags  of  Central  Europe,  the  Gray  Flags  of 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  269 

America,  all  conspire  against  one  another, 
with  at  least  five  times  five  which  is  twenty- 
five  hates,  in  all,  to  be  mathematical.  Yet 
they  all  read  the  same  Marx  to  tatters.  When 
the  Yellow  Flag  Marxians  of  China  agree 
among  themselves  sufficiently  to  fall  upon  the 
Purples  of  Japan,  a  thing  we  are  momently 
expecting,  the  World  Government  will  have 
a  stern  police  duty,  especially  since  both 
sides  are  being  urged  on  by  Singapore." 

Samiri  Shioya,  that  austere  old  man, 
continues,  saying  that  which  he  can  more 
gracefully  say  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us: 
"Instead  of  a  world  of  three  classes,  special 
priviliged,  middle  class,  and  peasantry,  as 
these  Marxians  think  it  to  be,  it  is,  from  my 
brother's  standpoint  and  my  own,  a  globe 
whose  seas  and  continents  are  spread  with 
fifty  to  one  hundred  antagonistic  races,  mutu 
ally  repellent.  These  fifty  to  one  hundred 
races  dye  thoroughly,  with  the  dye  of  race- 
mysticism,  any  economic  teaching  they  take 
up.  So  practical  world  statesmanship,  from 
the  Japanese  standpoint  and  I  am  glad  to  say, 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  fiery  Michael  also, 
has  dealt  with  race.  Our  statesmen  advocated 
the  principle  of  one  vote  to  every  main  tribe 
in  the  world  and  fractional  votes  in  due  pro 
portion  to  the  size  of  the  small  tribes,  long 


270  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

before  your  Michael  entered  the  Senate,  and 
every  speech  he  has  made  there  to  strengthen 
that  doctrine  has  been  cheered  from  end  to 
end  of  Japan. ' ' 

July  15:  —  Senator  Joseph  Bartholdi 
Michael  is  here  and  has  refused  the  conspicu 
ous  first  place  in  the  great  sunset  parade  and 
drill  held  in  his  honor  and  has  taken  his  place 
in  the  ranks  with  his  son,  and  has  demanded 
that  the  whole  ceremony  be  in  honor  of  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  and  the  International 
Flag.  Those  flags  have  been  put  up  in  special 
size  and  splendor,  all  over  the  town,  even 
more  than  is  the  custom.  And  the  borders 
of  the  parks  around  Camp  Lincoln  are  one 
tremendous  fleet  of  these  banners.  I  find  my 
self  on  the  drill  ground  near  the  aged  Japan 
ese  statesman.  I  am  huddled  on  the  side  of 
the  reviewing  platform  with  the  newspaper 
men,  and  we  watch  those  strange  Japanese 
eyes,  and  are  amazed  at  his  fiery  enthusiasm 
for  the  International  Flag.  The  reviewing 
platform  is  by  the  famous  wrought-iron 
gates,  hammered  out  by  the  Iron  Gentleman 
and  his  three  sons  and  three  daughters. 

Just  as  he  named  the  sword  "The  Avanel 
Sword/'  knowing  not  of  the  child  who  was 
coming  in  one  hundred  years,  he  named  these 
' '  The  Avanel  Gates, ' '  for  the  perhaps  mythi- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  271 

cal  Avanel  of  more  than  one  hundred  years 
ago. 

These  gates  are  massive  and  towering,  yet 
a  little  distance  away  are  wonderfully  trel- 
lised  vines,  seeming  to  be  climbing  the  white 
wall  from  which  the  gates  are  swung. 

In  the  center  of  each  design  is  a  Gol 
den  Rain  Tree.  The  blossoms  of  the  tree  are 
most  delicately  wrought,  and  shining  with 
gold  foil  against  the  black.  These  trees  were, 
in  especial,  the  work  of  the  hammers  of  the 
three  daughters. 

But  now,  to  the  delight  of  the  old  Japanese, 
and  the  delight  of  us  all,  the  magnificent 
cavalcade  of  men  and  women  sweeps  in  from 
their  city  parade  through  these  ancestral 
gates,  to  the  Camp  Lincoln  grounds,  in  order, 
yet  in  riot,  after  the  manner  of  a  great  dance 
of  gay  and  inspired  horses  and  horsemen. 
And  they  are  all  within  the  command  of 
Avanel,  standing  high  in  her  stirrups,  and 
as  much  beneath  her  eye  and  as  subject  to 
her  entranced  fancy,  as  has  been  St.  Friend, 
the  Giver  of  Bread,  when  she  uttered  his  ser 
mons  for  him,  hardly  knowing  how  she  did 
it,  except  that  she  spoke  her  mind. 

The  men  on  horseback  are  but  the  back 
ground  of  the  girls  in  their  Diana  mood.  The 
huntress,  and  yet  the  Pallas  Athena,  seems 


272  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

roused  in  all  these  girls  in  white.  Most  of 
them  are  in  their  first  strength : — high  school 
girls  when  they  are  still  a  bit  Tom  boy;  that 
which  is  with  every  girl  for  a  year  or  half  a 
lifetime  as  a  reminiscence  of  the  primeval 
girlhood  of  her  far  grandmothers,  when  they 
rode  the  two-toed  and  three-toed  horse  in 
equestrian  dance  and  revel. 

High  above  all  the  other  flags,  on  gigantic 
poles  on  either  side  of  the  reviewing  stand, 
are  the  official  flags  of  the  field.  The  poles  are 
of  equal  height  and  the  flags  are  of  identical 
size  and  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  pa- 
raders,  as  they  salute  them  and  salute  the 
Japanese  each  time  round  the  field: — while 
the  afterglow  turns  the  air  to  crimson  and 
orange  and  grey  pearl. 

They  go  by  screaming  and  screeching  with 
delight,  and  sweep  and  cut  the  air  with 
their  Avanel  blades  in  a  sunset  sword-drill. 
When  they  pass  Avanel,  whose  horse  is  now 
near  us,  the  salute  in  sign  of  submission  to 
her  pride,  is  given  with  all  a  girl  Amazon's 
fantastic  chivalry:  the  Boone  dagger,  lifted 
high  overhead.  In  her  person  at  least,  the 
Boones  of  Springfield  have  put  the  Michaels 
of  Springfield  under  their  feet.  And  certainly 
the  whitest  thing  in  the  whole  whirlwind  of 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  273 

white  is  the  spirited  head  of  old  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second.  Whatever  the 
morrow  between  these  clans,  his  submission 
is  made  as  she  sights  him,  and  he  bows  and 
salutes  in  the  last  afterglow,  and  she  forces 
him  to  lead  the  review  beside  her. 

The  Japanese  watches  and  wonders  and 
says  to  the  press  gallery  that  of  course  no 
day  can  be  women's  day  and  men's  day 
equally,  and  this  is  one  of  the  days  of  the 
women. 

Now  all  the  while  I  have  been  wondering 
about  a  certain  device  that  is  the  millinery 
and  nonsense  of  this  drill  park,  the  globe 
that  is  the  mechanical  toy  of  these  laughing 
girls.  Now  the  whole  company  are  whirling 
round  and  round  that  giant  school-globe  that 
looms  like  the  dome  of  the  Taj  Mahal  in  the 
center  of  the  field.  Upon  the  surface  of  the 
sphere  of  hollow  crystal,  the  map  of  the  world 
now  begins  to  blaze  out  as  darkness  comes  on, 
the  continents  in  the  conventional  colors  of 
the  school  globes  from  the  beginning  of  the 
log  school  house  days.  The  interior  of  the 
sphere  is  a  vapor,  the  color  of  the  sea,  but  be 
coming  iridescent  as  though  the  world  were 
but  a  bubble  blown  by  the  fancy  of  one  of  the 
powers  of  the  universe.  The  changes  of  light 


274  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

are  painted  upon  the  faces  of  the  riders  and 
the  flanks  of  the  horses. 

July  17: — The  Japanese  is  addressing  the 
leaders  of  the  Horseshoe  Brotherhood  and  the 
Amazons.  He  says  in  conclusion: — "Hardly 
a  man  on  the  earth  wanted  the  war  to  come 
that  was  waged  against  the  World  Govern 
ment  thirty  years  ago,  if  we  are  to  believe  the 
professions  then  made.  So  far  as  I  can  dis 
cover  not  one  responsible  statesman  expected 
or  intended  it.  Such  dynamite  may  be  touched 
off  again,  and  this  time  it  will  be  with  more 
cause  and  more  open  anticipation.  So  though 
the  responsible  ones  like  Michael  and  my 
brother,  if  I  may  say  so,  are  doing  their  best 
to  prevent  war,  half  the  world  is  drilling  and 
riding  and  marching,  and  flying  about  in 
practice  war  planes,  and  even  here  where  the 
Great  World's  Fair  of  the  University  of 
Springfield  is  going  on,  that  seems  in  itself  an 
assurance  of  international  brotherhood  for 
ever,  you  are  drilling  more  zealously  every 
day. 

"Pardon  me,  if  for  a  moment  I  speak  as 
an  old  man  to  his  grandchildren.  I  ask  to 
be  forgiven  if  I  am  jealous  of  the  furious  and 
romantic  years  just  coming  on,  jealous  for 
the  farther  future,  and  for  its  vindication. 
The  immediate  years,  I  know,  will  fill  our 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  275 

cups  with  sorrow  whether  we  live  or  die.  But 
I  ask  of  you  one  Spartan  thing,  beyond  fight 
ing  ten  years — if  ten  years  be  necessary  to 
subdue  mad  Singapore.  Remember  not  only 
the  virtues  but  the  follies  of  your  mothers, 
the  Amazons,  and  your  fathers,  the  Horse 
shoe  Brotherhood,  who  rode  side  by  side  and 
fought  so  nobly  thirty  years  ago.  I  can  speak 
of  this  because  I  can  say  without  flinching 
that  our  Japanese  men  and  women  Samurai 
went  through  the  same  glories  and  follies, 
with  them  in  the  same  battle  line.  Forever 
after,  they  have  lived  in  that  war  on  that 
battle  line.  Do  not  go  on  perpetually  climb 
ing  into  office  because  you  can  recount  mili 
tary  history,  as  many  of  our  Samurai  have 
done,  drowning  out  the  man  or  woman  who 
wants  to  speak  of  matters  thirty  years  ahead 
and  plan  such  a  thing  as  your  Fair  or  Univer 
sity.  No  war  ushers  in  the  perfect  state.  The 
great  wars  are  not  all  fought  with  the  sword. 
To  speak  in  the  Christian  phrase,  remember 
that  every  yesterday  is  but  a  box  of  costly 
spikenard  to  be  broken  on  the  feet  of  Holy 
Tomorrow.  Though  you  fight  ten  wars,  let 
yesterday  be  your  enemy.  Otherwise  you  fight 
but  as  the  nations  that  died  before  Confucius, 
and  Mencius. ' ' 

July  18: — The  same  group  as  on  the  14th 


276  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

of  July  are  around  the  library  table  of  St. 
Friend  with  the  addition  of  the  gigantic 
Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  who  is 
among  us  as  though  he  were  in  his  boyhood 
again,  being  as  he  says,  "Back  home,  after 
so  long."  The  idolizing  friendship  of  the 
Japanese  and  his  private  secretary  but  pro 
voke  him  to  franker  monologues  and  a  greater 
disposition  to  sprawl  about  with  his  hair 
mussed  up  and  his  head  on  one  side  like  an 
eagle  acting  the  robin.  He  has  his  arm  around 
his  son,  as  though  he  would  push  him  in 
amongst  us.  As  the  evening  progresses,  in 
reply  to  some  quite  pointed  questions  from 
the  Japanese,  on  behalf  of  his  brother  and 
himself,  who  want  to  act  upon  the  informa 
tion,  discreetly  but  definitely,  Joseph  Bar 
tholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  bawls  out  a  con 
fession: — 

"First,  let  me  say  that  no  man  ever  held 
office  in  the  world,  who  was  actually  capable 
of  running  more  than  a  village  of  ten  thou 
sand  inhabitants.  All  men  who  have  been 
higher  in  apparent  rank  than  village  mayors, 
have  simply  made  shift :  rattled  about  in  their 
big  chairs  as  they  could.  The  courageous 
man,  knowing  this,  respects,  but  does  not 
fear  or  revere  the  alleged  great.  They  all  get 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  277 

the  respect  from  me  due  to  a  good  mayor,  and 
no  more.  No  man  should  run  for  a  great  office 
without  expecting  to  make  a  botch  of  his  ad 
ministration.  I  dream  of  something  definite 
and  quite  selfish.  I  want  to  have  my  turn  as 
President  of  the  World  Government.  This 
proclamation  may  be  too  much  American 
style  for  the  stomachs  of  my  Japanese  friends 
here  present.  But  no  one  was  ever  elected  dog 
catcher,  coroner,  governor,  senator,  or  presi 
dent,  in  this  United  States,  who  did  not  first 
nominate  himself.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  know 
of  no  American  politician  who  was  ever  urged 
to  run  by  his  most  admiring  friend.  I  must 
keep  my  American  political  habits  if  I  am  to 
feel  at  home  in  this  contest  and  to  retain  even 
the  American  vote.  All  this  is  by  the  way.  I 
hope  it  is  not  too  mysterious  to  a  Japanese. 

"To  continue  as  to  my  views  around  and 
about  this  office.  A  man  may  serve  but  one 
term  at  best.  We  Michaels  are  a  long  lived 
set,  and  I  am  hoping  at  the  end  of  this  war 
to  have  strength  for  one  term. 

It  is  a  long  journey  to  the  nomination  past 
all  other  possible  national  or  international 
ambitions;  for  instance,  in  my  case,  past  an 
ambition  to  forge  a  thousand  Michael  blades. 

"I  admit  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  know  the 
ironies,  or  at  least  some  of  them,  if  I  win. 


278  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Whoever  is  President  of  the  World  or  mayor 
of  a  small  town  is  predestined  to  be  over 
thrown  by  the  ten  most  envious  and  vigorous 
young  men  who  want  his  place." 

And  now  the  eagle  begins  to  flame  in  the 
face  of  Michael  and  he  speaks  most  earnestly: 
"I  can  only  hope  that  some  of  the  envious 
will  be  from  Springfield's  freshman  chivalry. 
I  love  the  hate  of  young  men  and  young 
women  when  it  is  high  and  keeps  them  driv 
ing  forward  to  unseat  the  older  generation 
in  tournaments  over  noble  issues.  And  who 
ever  replaces  me  at  the  World  Capitol, 
either  in  the  legislature  or  the  supreme  chair, 
I  hope  to  have  made  my  bungling  record 
there  of  such  a  sort,  my  foe,  equally  human, 
will  be  obliged  to  do  his  noblest  to  unseat  me. 
But  the  sword  of  the  Michaels  has  not  been 
called  the  Avanel  sword  by  divine  accident 
alone,  and  at  the  end  of  my  turn,  ten  years 
hence,  or  so,  I  am  willing  to  be  driven  out  of 
fhe  supreme-chair  by  a  Boone,  of  Springfield, 
particularly  if  it  is  a  girl,  and  particularly  if 
she  is  named  Avanel."  Which  ending  is  of 
course  but  gallant  nonsense.  But  I  venture, 
from  my  dark  corner  to  interrupt  severely: — 
"The  world  would  have  a  princess,  not  a 
president.  It  would  simply  be  the  reiteration 
of  monarchy  and  idolatry  from  of  old  time. ' ' 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  279 

But  no  one  seems  to  hear  me.  My  voice 
comes  from  too  far  away. 

July  21: — Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the 
Second,  is  talking  with  the  two  Japanese  and 
myself  in  Tom  Strong 's  Lunch  Room,  and, 
with  most  elaborate  and  knightly  deference 
to  the  extremely  contrasting  race  character 
of  our  guests,  and  is  giving  his  theory  of  what 
he  calls :— '  <  The  New  Springfield  Race. ' '  And 
his  tone  of  voice  is  most  diplomatically  in 
gratiating,  as  he  touches  on  matters  alien  to 
Japanese  thought. 

"Just  as  the  sea  is  naturally  the  world's 
buffer  state,  and  in  area  far  greater  than  the 
total  of  all  the  continents,  with  the  happy 
circumstance  that  the  World  Government  is 
supported  by  a  sea  revenue,  in  this  same  way 
and  no  other  way,  institutions  like  the  Uni 
versity  Fair  lie  between  all  great  enemies  and 
factions  of  Springfield,  a  sea  of  separation, 
cooling,  and  reconciliation. 

"  Springfield,  in  other  ways,  affords  so  good 
a  symbol  of  desirable  world  conditions, 
toward  which  the  World  Government  should 
be,  perhaps,  constructed,  that  I  would  like  to 
put  the  city  before  you  in  that  light. 

"What  is  the  ultimate  citizen  of  Spring 
field?  Already  the  race  strains  that  have 
mixed,  have  made  an  elastic,  resilient  type, 


280  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

that  is  one  with  the  city's  suddenest  moves. 

"Of  course,  one  event  or  festival  pleases 
the  Italians  most,  another  seems  to  be  in  the 
Scandanavian  mood,  though  both  events  rep 
resent  Springfield.  Every  new  song  or  event 
or  new  idea  goes  echoing  through  the  various 
'temperaments,  and  has  a  resonance  that  a 
thought  cannot  have  when  it  is  echoed  in  only 
one  kind  of  a  corridor. 

"And  Springfieldians,  for  all  their  marvel 
ous  intermarriages,  are  not  mongrel.  They 
have  a  special  Springfield  sense  of  the  sacred 
mystery  of  race,  that  keeps  the  great  pro 
nounced  race  types  like  the  Japanese  and 
others  in  honored  separation,  while  within 
one  general  type  or  kindred  tradition,  there  is 
much  intermarriage. 

"We  Michaelites  say  to  each  other,  and  you 
will  forgive  a  family  allusion,  that  the  Spring 
field  soul,  which  is  so  elastic,  is  like  the  sword 
evolved  by  the  Iron  Gentleman,  which  can  be 
coiled  like  a  ribbon  from  the  side  but,  when 
cutting  straightforward,  can  go  through  gran 
ite  without  losing  edge  anywhere. 

"As  for  the  versatility  and  elasticity,  the 
Irish  grandmother  of  my  pet  enemy  will  keep 
him  in  city  hall  politics,  and  one  Russian 
great-grandmother  keeps  him  in  the  music 
department  of  the  University,  as  one  of  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  281 

leading  composers.  Or  so  we  are  accustomed 
to  tracing  out  family  lines  in  this  town. 

"  Another  man  is  quite  sure  that  his  Portu 
gese  great-grandfather  gives  him  the  voice 
to  be  one  of  the  city's  principals  in  local 
opera,  and  his  Scotch  great-grandfather,  at 
least  in  his  own  eyes,  explains  the  fact  that 
he  is  an  expert  accountant. 

"The  mystery  of  race  is  first  of  all  a  sex 
mystery,  and  with  endless  subtleties  settled 
by  instinct,  on  which  no  man  can  dogmatize, 
though  they  have  caused  jealous  Othello  to 
misunderstand  and  kill  Desdemona,  and  Jes 
sica  to  understand  and  wed  Lorenzo,  from 
the  beginning.  If  race  is  first  of  all  a  sex 
mystery,  it  is  next  a  religious  mystery,  which 
is  more  easily  expounded,  from  the  standpoint 
of  politics,  and  touches,  perhaps  more  clearly, 
our  theory  of  World  Government.  The  pray 
ers  at  our  family  altars  differ  in  tone  and 
accent.  The  races  with  a  turn  for  sectarian 
ism,  like  the  Scotch,  are  still  working  in 
our  blood  while  others  are  the  mainstay  of 
the  Cathedral.  All  phases  of  the  race — 
the  religious  mystery,  moving  in  harmony, 
cleanness,  and  self  respect  are  not  only  a  part 
of  Springfield's  total  personality,  but  of 
Springfield 's  government,  in  the  midst  of  ap 
parent  mob-law. 


282  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

"For  instance,  the  fact  that  the  Catho 
lics  have  remained  for  these  one  hundred 
years  worshipping  in  their  incense-haunted 
Churches  in  the  Springfield  atmosphere, 
means  that  Springfield  people,  married  before 
Springfield  Catholic  altars,  have  become  a 
special  kind  of  dreaming  Catholics.  There 
fore,  they  have  given  us  miracle-working, 
vision-seeing  saints,  like  Saint  Scribe  of  the 
Shrines,  to  help  unify  our  mood.  And  we  all 
worship  in  season  at  the  Cathedral,  and  half 
of  us  are  followers  of  St.  Friend,  the  Giver  of 
Bread,  whatever  our  religious  belief. 

"I  say  the  Christian  Science  Church  of 
Springfield  has  a  most  noble  history.  It  is 
made  up  largely  of  heretic  Jews  and  prose 
lytes  from  the  old  Congregational  New  Eng- 
landers.  This  would  not  be  so  if  the  doctrine 
were  a  pure  abstraction  appealing  to  all  men 
equally.  It  is  mixed  in  some  incalculable  way 
with  the  mystery  of  race  and  the  mystery  of 
•the  past,  or  it  would  not  appeal  so  defi 
nitely  to  these  two  race  traditions,  and  so 
little  to  all  others. 

"The  side  of  it  that  appeals  to  me  is  its 
history  of  freedom  and  its  chronicle  of  sub 
division,  which  mean  life,  at  least  I  hold  that 
they  do  in  this  case.  And  so  we  find  the  local 
Mother  Church  growing  at  first  strong,  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  283 

then  new  teachers  rising  in  the  body  of  the 
Church's  life  to  make  more  vital  the  friendly 
and  hostile  pulpits  of  the  town,  and  stimulate 
everywhere  debate. 

"The  teachings  of  Eabbi  Ezekiel  of  the 
Oak  Religion  and  Mother  Grey  of  the  Flower 
Religion  may  be  largely  classified  as  coming 
from  Christian  Science.  The  wave  of  its  tide 
is  still  strong  among  us,  and  we  know  not 
what  Christian  Science  may  bring  forth  for 
Springfield  tomorrow. 

"Our  sects  quarrel,  of  course,  but  whatever 
quarrels  they  have  divide  families  only,  never 
the  city. 

"I  wish  this  could  always  be  true  of  the 
races  in  the  World  Government. 

"We  have  seen  adorers  of  the  truth,  like 
close  followers  of  Mother  Grey,  the  Florist, 
going  from  Synagogue  to  Church  and  from 
Church  to  the  Open  Forum,  and  it  is  generally 
deemed  a  mark  of  a  good  citizen,  certainly 
among  the  descendants  of  the  Iron  Gentle 
man,  to  understand  all  of  these  movements, 
and  to  love  many,  though  they  appear  to  con 
tradict  one  another.  Within  the  dominion 
of  the  Springfield  mind,  there  is  a  prin 
ciple: — one  sect,  one  vote:  one  race,  one 
vote.  As  florist  Mother  Grey  is  willing  to  say 
to  her  most  devoted  following  'Our  religions 


284     THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

and  races  may  be  looked  upon  by  the  wise  as 
many  flowers  of  opposite  design,  yet  all  mak 
ing  glad  the  Springfield  garden. '  Yet  there  is 
no  place  in  the  world  where  people  are  more 
loyal  to  their  clans.  Boones  are  Boones  for 
ever. 

"You,  as  a  Japanese,  will  be  glad  and  com 
prehend  when  I  say  that  even  the  religious 
life  from  the  far  east,  except  the  teaching  of 
Singapore,  moves  up  into  this  common  de 
nominator  in  Springfield  that  we  call  citizen 
ship.  There  are  a  few  Mohammedan  Philip 
pines,  and  I  happen  to  know,  they  are  good 
citizens  and  good  Americans,  though  they  are 
allowed  but  one  apparent  wife  in  these  states. 
There  is  a  group  of  Thibetans,  of  whom  the 
Thibetan  Boy  is  one  socially,  if  not  relig 
iously,  who  do  not  find  a  contradiction  be 
tween  their  Springfield  patriotism  that  has 
gone  on  these  three  generations,  and  their 
reformed  Buddhism.  Of  course,  they  marry 
for  the  most  part  among  themselves,  or  bring 
Thibetans  from  New  York  or  San  Francisco 
to  build  up  their  colony.  Whatever  church  a 
group  of  our  people  finds  in  tune  with  their 
race  and  sex  and  love-tradition,  no  matter 
how  separate  they  keep  their  race  strains,  or 
how  guarded  their  family  altars  and  holy  fam 
ily  flags,  they  surely  belong  to  the  Spring- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  285 

field  race  and  the  Springfield  Civic  Religion. 
They  are  loyal  to  the  city  as  a  scholar  is  to 
his  University.  This  is  the  mood  I  would  like 
to  get  into  World-Government-Flag-Patriot 
ism,  which  is  now  too  crude.  With  obvious 
Singaporian  exceptions,  this  Springfield  civic 
religon  is  preached  by  every  philosopher  and 
every  local  atheist.  Even  Sparrow  Short, 
though  he  seems  to  hate  me  and  the  World 
Government,  would  count  it  as  great  a  hard 
ship  to  be  banished  from  Springfield,  as 
Dante  counted  it,  to  be  banished  from  Flor 
ence.  I  wish  his  kind  could  see  the  World 
Flag  as  they  see  the  Springfield  Flag. 

"You  have  wanted  to  understand  my  poli 
tics,  to  make  it  clearer  to  your  brother  in 
Japan.  In  most  things  the  city  is  a  symbol 
and  pattern  to  me  of  World  Unity  and  World 
Government  and  if  there  has  been  any  con 
sistency  in  my  battles  in  the  World  Senate, 
it  is  because  I  had  faith  in  this  pattern. 

"Within  the  range  from  Jew  to  Greek  we 
openly  trust  one  another's  priesthood,  realiz 
ing  we  are  all  kings  and  priests  before  God. 
Above  all  races  and  their  sects  are  the  stars, 
and  beneath  them  is  the  rich  earth,  and  be 
tween  these  our  city  climbs  heavenward.  I  am 
sure  that  before  a  thousand  years  go  by,  yes, 
before  a  hundred  years  go  by,  some  image  of 


286  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Prince  Siddartha  will  stand  beside  the  image 
of  Johnny  Appleseed,  whose  soul  was  so  much 
like  his  own.  Our  image  of  Johnny  Appleseed 
would  have  been  equally  impossible  in  the 
church  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  that  stood  on 
the  site  of  our  cathedral  one  hundred  years 
ago.  With  such  practical  unity  of  the  main 
forces  that  have  quarrelled  immemorially  in 
the  old  lands,  I  have  the  hope  that  similar 
forces  of  race  and  sect,  with  the  buffer  state 
of  the  ocean  between  them,  to  keep  them  cool, 
may  come  to  practical  reconciliation  under 
the  World  Flag: — that  those  that  can  unite 
under  the  Flag  of  Springfield  with  joy,  can 
some  day  unite,  the  world  over,  under  the  flag 
of  all  mankind. ' '  And  so,  till  midnight  Joseph 
Bartholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  talks  on  and 
'on,  possibly  recruiting  a  member  of  his  pos 
sible  cabinet,  if  his  dream  comes  true,  of  be 
ing  for  one  term  the  President  of  the  World. 
And  the  Japanese  Samurai  nods  his  gray  head 
keeping  time  to  the  eloquence,  till  the  one 
remaining  waiter  gets  us  out  of  the  restau 
rant  by  turning  down  the  lights,  and  handing 
us  our  hats. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

HOW   IN    THE   LATTER   PART    OF    JULY   BLACK   HAWK 
BOONE  IS  OPENLY  LYNCHED  AND  JAMES  KOPENSKY 
MYSTERIOUSLY  STABBED  ON  THE  SAME  EVENING. 
HOW     THREE     MONTHS     LATER     THERE     IS     NO 
SIGN   THAT    EITHER    MURDER    WILL    BE    PUN 
ISHED.     HOW    THE    GOLDEN    BOOK    APPEARS 
ON  THE  MYSTIC  DAY,  NOVEMBER  1,  2018  AND 
HOW,    WHEN    IT    COMES    DOWN    TO    THE 
MOURNING  AVANEL,   SHE  TAKES   COUR 
AGE  AND  LEADS  HER  PEOPLE  AGAINST 
SINGAPORE,   THAT  WICKED   NATION, 
THAT  HAS  DECLARED  WAR  ON  THE 
WORLD    FLAG. 

July  22,  2018: — This  morning  owing  to  new 
utterances  on  the  part  of  Sparrow  Short  and 
two  others,  more  venomous  than  himself, 
brothers  of  "Beau  Nash,"  he  and  they  are 
put  into  the  International  Prison  for  world 
treason,  with  all  further  bail  and  bond  re 
fused.  Therefore  tonight  there  is  a  great 
torch-parade  and  ritual  by  St.  Friend  and 
his  followers  in  the  cathedral.  Debs,  John 
Brown,  Love  joy,  Liebknecht,  are  invoked. 
Springfield's  fury,  glory,  and  devotion  are  in 
every  face  and  eye,  St.  Friend,  with  unaccus- 

287 


288  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

tomed  fire  for  these  his  days  of  feebler  health, 
reviles  the  opinions  of  Short  and  his  com 
panions.  But  he  demands  their  liberation  in 
the  name  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  and  Free  Speech.  St.  Friend  cries  from 
the  pulpit:  "We  preach  not  the  low  revolu 
tion,  but  the  high  revolution,  not  the  massacre 
in  the  street,  but  the  high  unquenched  torch 
of  freedom  and  free  speech  in  the  unconsumed 
cathedral. " 

The  smoke  of  those  torches  comes  between 
me  and  St.  Friend.  Everything  on  this  day 
happens  to  me  in  such  a  fashion.  There  is 
much  dust  on  the  dustless  streets,  at  least 
when  I  pass  by.  And  many  streets  are  unac 
countably  deserted,  morning  and  afternoon, 
though  there  is  a  World's  Fair  crowd  roar 
ing  somewhere  near,  I  know.  And  the  dust 
that  sweeps  up  with  the  autumn  leaves  from 
these  streets  has  the  taste  of  old  years  in  it, 
and  the  grave.  It  seems,  some  moments,  as 
though  I  can  keep  my  eyes  open  no  longer.  I 
am  not  to  take  one  step  further.  Some  fate  has 
forbidden  me  to  glimpse  more  of  my  City.  But 
there  is  that  in  my  will  and  my  soul  that  com 
mands  me  to  go  forward  one  step  further, 
and  open  my  eyes  for  one  moment  longer. 

And  so  through  this  evening  I  realize  that, 
dimly  and  dizzily,  the  torches  are  being  up- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  289 

lifted  at  the  beginning  of  the  star  chiming 
hour. 

Now  the  great  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael, 
the  Second,  is  himself  speaking  in  the  cathe 
dral,  and,  if  he  testifies  for  old  Sparrow 
Short,  who  shall  say  that  Short  is  a  danger 
to  the  World  Flag? 

Michael  says  that  just  as  freedom  resides 
in  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  in  trial 
by  jury,  and  the  like,  which  are  immemorial, 
crystallized  institutions  of  the  radicalism  of 
ancient  times,  so  radicals  with  new  thoughts 
should  have  every  chance  with  their  torch, 
in  the  church  and  not  be  forced  to  wave  it  in 
the  street,  and  that  "he  is  indeed  glad  this 
ineeting  is  being  held  in  this  place,  etc.,  etc." 

July  23: — Sparrow  Short  is  left  locked  up 
and  forgotten,  for  to-day  there  is  a  great 
war-music  in  the  streets. 

All  Singapore  is  running  amuck.  The 
Horseshoe  Brotherhood  and  the  Amazons  are 
drilling  double  hours.  Joseph  Bartholdi  Mi 
chael,  the  Second,  is  firing  his  clan  like  an 
Arab  Mahdi,  preaching  a  new  holy  war.  A 
new  group  of  trumpeters  are  to  the  fore,  blow 
ing  slender  trumpets,  all  of  them  silver  white, 
to  frighten  the  Lord  of  Cocaine,  trumpets 
whose  cry  is  that  of  birds  that  the  Singa- 


290  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

porians  hold  accursed;  the  eagle,  the  turkey 
and  the  wild  swan. 

And  to  that  music,  there  at  Camp  Lincoln, 
the  malestrom  of  cavalry  goes  on,  round  and 
round  their  gigantic  mechanical  toy,  their 
simple  childlike  image  of  the  earth,  and  its 
glow  is  turning  to  a  glare  as  of  a  smelter- 
furnace  door,  or  the  blaze  of  a  little  planet, 
newly  whirled  off  from  the  sun* 

July  24: — War  talk  dies  down  and  the 
whole  town  is  full  of  hatred  of  its  leaders  and 
feverish  silly  rumors  against  them.  More  and 
more  openly  the  small  fry  politicians  of  all 
factions  seem  to  be  justifying  with  reminis 
cent  emphasis  the  lynching  of  Surto  Hurden- 
burg  as  an  heroic  act  of  defiance  of  both  the 
City  Hall  and  the  Board  of  Education,  The 
actual  responsibility  for  the  lynching  is 
shifted  from  this  one  to  that  one,  but,  whoever 
it  was  that  led  (if  we  are  to  believe  the  tone 
of  the  coffee  houses)  is  a  hero. 

The  fairly  well-meaning  leaders  of  the 
town,  comprising  the  majority  of  both  the 
Board  of  Education  and  the  City  Hall,  are 
in  new  tremendous  offices,  administering  the 
growing  responsibilities  of  the  World's  Fair 
and  the  war  preparations  also,  and  a  gulf  has 
been  made  between  them  and  the  people  with 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  291 

whom  they  have  been  on  gossiping  terms  here 
tofore. 

The  old  war  between  the  town  and  the  gown 
seems  revived,  with  this  difference,  that  the 
natives  of  Springfield  act  like  the  University 
students,  and  the  finest  World's  Fair  visit 
ors  seem  the  real  citizens  of  the  place,  in 
sulted  at  the  deeds  of  the  freshmen.  The 
habit  of  turning  every  spare  village  green 
into  a  summer  camp  ground  for  passing  tour 
ists  in  automobiles,  that  has  prevailed  through 
the  United  States  for  a  long  time,  has  estab 
lished  in  all  the  counties  adjoining  Spring 
field  an  enormous  circle  of  village  grounds, 
and  here  the  great  part  of  the  Fair  visitors 
camp  by  their  own  machines  and  come  in  to 
the  show  by  day,  by  local  transportation  of 
all  sorts.  Their  resentment  of  the  frivolity  of 
the  rank  and  file  of  the  city  grows,  and 
nightly  they  are  the  more  appalled  at  the 
rumor  as  they  chatter  in  their  camps,  that 
the  Springfield  mob  intends  to  lynch  whole 
sale  the  only  people  who  have  treated  the 
Fair  visitors  with  any  degree  of  courtesy, 
namely: — the  City  Council  and  the  Board  of 
Education. 

Whole  streets  of  the  city  are  suddenly  de 
serted  and  the  business  houses  closed,  for  this 
or  that  lightly  given  reason,  and  the  next 


292  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

hour  that  street,  under  obscure  leaders  may 
be  filled  with  a  howling  mob,  that  seems  to  be 
howling  about  nothing. 

The  slander  still  persists,  with  infinite  vari 
ations,  that  the  man  who  poisoned  Drug  Store 
Smith  and  Coffee  House  Kusuko  did  it  at 
the  direct  instigation  of  old  Boone.  Such  an 
action  is  indeed  far  from  Boone 's  nature.  And 
this,  all  discredited  leaders,  in  a  panic  for 
their  personal  safety,  steadily  maintain. 

July  25: — I  am  again  the  Malay  servant  at 
the  house  of  the  Man  from  Singapore. 

The  death  of  Drug  Store  Smith  and  Coffee 
House  Kusuko  was  exacted  of  the  Mayor 's 
son  by  Montague  Rock.  It  was  an  earnest  of 
the  sincerity  of  his  conversion  to  the  Singa- 
porian  cult.  The  Man  from  Singapore  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it  and,  in  fact,  does  not 
approve  of  the  use  of  such  a  drastic  initiation, 
"But  who  can  control  these  zealous  prose 
lytes,  these  foreigners  1"  he  says.  The  slander 
ing  of  Boone,  it  appears,  by  the  talk  of  the 
Man  from  Singapore  with  his  daughter,  is 
also  the  work  of  this  fanatical  convert, 
Montague  Eock.  It  is  not  exactly  the  Singa- 
porian  way.  But  again  "who  can  control 
these  foreigners?" 

July  26: — About  the  beginning  of  July, 
four  men  come  to  town,  who  took  part  in 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  293 

the  burning  alive  of  a  negro  in  Chicago. 
The  burning  was  provoked  by  a  yellow  jour 
nal's  account,  giving  hear-say  evidence 
against  the  negro.  Disturbing  their  minds  not 
at  all  over  the  subsequent  vindication  of  the 
black  man,  his  executioners  come  to  Spring 
field,  intoxicated  with  their  recent  leadership, 
the  first  taste  of  public  power  they  have  ever 
known,  the  smell  of  burning  flesh  delighting 
their  cannibal  nostrils.  They,  take  odd  jobs 
from  Boone  and  profess  to  be  his  violent 
partizans.  They  are  more  violent  than  he 
desires  or  uses. 

And  so  tonight,  while  I  am  chained  in  the 
body  of  the  Malay  body-servant,  the  news 
comes  over  the  phone,  particularly  grieving 
the  Man  from  Singapore,  that  Boone  has  been 
hanged  from  the  same  tree  at  the  northwest 
corner  of  the  State  House  ground,  where 
Surto  Hurdenburg  was  hanged  on  the  twen 
tieth  of  June.  The  four  men  from  Chicago, 
who  lead  the  mob,  want  to  burn  Boone  to 
death,  but  the  rest  of  the  crowd  insist  on  a 
hanging.  The  crowd  is  not  composed  of  parti 
zans  of  the  City  Hall.  There  are  few  people 
who  were  at  the  murder  of  Hurdenburg;  ac 
cording  to  the  report  over  the  phone,  equally 
obscure  members  of  all  factions  are  repre 
sented. 


294  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

The  Man  from  Singapore  says  he  deeply 
regrets  the  death  of  Boone  who  was  an  honor 
able  and  open  foe  of  Singapore.  He  almost 
weeps  before  the  beautiful  Mara  and,  as  to 
what  she  thinks,  I  know  not.  He  says  that  if 
he  had  had  his  way,  Boone  should  have  lived 
several  years  longer,  but  the  fashions,  even 
of  proselytes  in  Springfield,  are  past  finding 
out.  "They  are  WHITE  people,  you  know," 
he  says  to  Mara,  ' '  even  if  they  are  converted. ' ' 

Then  he  is  gone  to  his  writing  room  in  the 
white  tower  of  his  house,  and  Mara  sits  wait 
ing  for  Crawling  Jim,  who  is  due  later  this 
evening. 

And  here  let  it  be  recorded  that,  the  Singa- 
porian  issue  becoming  more  bitter,  the  towers 
of  Springfield  and  all  the  principal  cities  of 
the  United  States  have  been  painted  white 
this  last  month,  to  drive  out  the  more  fan 
atical  Singaporians.  In  complete  harmony 
with  this  hysterical  and  fantastic  and  humor 
ous  procedure,  Crawling  Jim  has  been  under 
the  necessity  of  wearing  a  small  white  plume 
in  his  hat,  or  resigning  his  place  as  President 
of  the  Robin  Eedbreast  Flying  Club.  Noth 
ing  is  said  among  the  members.  Plumes  begin 
to  appear  one  at  a  time.  Soon  a  majority  have 
them.  Jim  put  on  his  plume  late  yesterday. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  295 

He  values  his  supremacy  in  that  flying  club 
more  than  any  victory  in  love  or  any  dogma 
of  religion. 

But  having  had  a  part  in  the  Judas  tricks 
which  have  ended  in  the  hanging  of  Boone, 
he  knocks  most  confidently  on  the  door  to 
night,  when  it  is  almost  midnight,  and  I  let 
him  in.  He  carries  in  his  hand  the  hat  with 
the  white  plume. 

He  walks  into  the  book-room  most  jauntily. 
There  the  deep  eyed  Mara  awaits  him  with 
love.  She  is  nestled  among  her  books,  just 
below  her  mother's  languid  picture.  She 
lifts  slow  eyes  that  are  heavy  with  love.  But 
she  sees  that  white  plume.  And  Jim  has  little 
time  left  in  life  to  have  the  Malay  nature  ex 
plained  to  him,  the  brief  tale  of  how  they  may 
run  "amuck"  without  reason. 

Mara  cannot  wait.  Her  dagger  is  out,  and 
she  is  indeed  running  ' '  amuck. ' '  They  reach 
the  hall  together,  and  she  stabs  him  before 
the  eyes  of  the  green  Glass  Buddha.  She 
stands  stark  and  lonely  above  him,  and 
screams  for  her  father  to  come  down  from 

his  writing  room. 

****** 

October  29:— The  body  of  Crawling  Jim 
was  found  in  a  shadow,  near  the  tree  where 


296  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Boone  was  hanged,  by  the  group  of  young 
Boones  who  came  to  take  away  the  body  of 
their  kinsman. 

No  one  is  in  serious  peril  of  being  brought 
to  justice  for  the  death  of  Boone,  though 
that  was  three  months  and  three  days  ago. 
This  has  always  been  the  case,  in  Springfield 
lynchings  and  murders.  It  is  a  thing  still 
taken  for  granted,  as  people  look  drearily  in 
the  direction  of  the  courts.  The  weekly  mag 
azines  in  Coe's  Book  Store,  from  all  over  the 
country,  roar  about  the  two  unavenged  and 
unspeakable  Springfield  murders: — of  the 
leading  editor,  and  the  son  of  the  mayor  on 
the  same  night.  This  has  been  in  the  papers, 
on  similar  occasions,  for  a  century.  And  curi 
ously  enough,  the  town  is  blazing  with  inter 
national  courage  and  all  tense  with  efficiency 
on  international  issues.  We  are  more  in  de 
spair  of  bringing  some  sixty  or  one  hundred 
masked  murderers  to  justice  than  of  anni 
hilating  the  whole  nation  and  religion  of 
Singapore  on  the  other  side  of  the  world.  And 
there  is,  I  admit,  some  justification  for  our 
hope.  America,  paralyzed  one  minute,  is  like 
a  million  bolts  of  lightning  the  next.  There 
is  something  of  the  essence  of  majority  rule 
in  this,  if  one  might  think  it  out.  But  to  our 
story. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  297 

Singapore  ia  about  to  proclaim  ar  all- Asia 
tie  alliance  against  the  World  Government, 
with  the  ostensible  object  of  an  ultimate  Pa 
cific  Ocean  Government,  living  in  alleged 
reciprocity  and  amity  with  the  World  Govern 
ment,  but  not  under  one  jurisdiction.  Their 
newspaper  editorials,  sent  by  cable,  sound 
marvelously  like  the  fulminations  of  South 
Carolina  in  the  days  of  Andrew  Jackson,  and 
further  fulminations  in  the  days  just  before 
the  Civil  War. 

Indo  China  joins  the  Singaporian  league, 
Burmah,  and  certain  provinces  of  Southern 
China.  But  most  of  the  Asiatic  continent  and 
all  of  Japan  remains  actively  loyal  to  the 
Flag  of  Joseph's  Coat.  On  the  other  hand 
there  are  strange  hesitancies  in  Europe  and 
South  America.  There  are  rumors  of  World 
Treason,  even  among  American  officials  of  the 
World  Government.  Today  the  Singaporian 
declaration  hangs. 

I  find  myself  again  with  the  Japanese  and 
his  secretary  on  the  reviewing  stand  by 
the  wrought  iron  gates  of  Camp  Lincoln,  as 
the  Amazons  once  more  whirl  by.  They  are 
valiant  and  potent  as  Britomart,  and  the  Jap 
anese  Samurai  says  "it  is  inconceivable  that 
such  creatures  could  let  a  mob  run  away  with 
their  town,  if  such  things  had  not  happened 


298  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

hundreds  of  times  in  the  history  of  noble 
cities. ' ' 

I  find  a  wan  new  hope  pouring  into  my 
dusty  veins  as  they  pass  us  many  thousand 
strong,  riding  the  best  bred,  the  best  shod 
horses  in  the  whole  wide  world,  and  flashing 
the  finest  swords  ever  made.  And  along  with 
the  swords,  the  eyes  of  the  horses  flash  as 
though  they  themselves  were  shouting  the 
song  of  the  warrior  maidens.  It  is  the  old 
song,  sung  now  with  terrible  irony  and 
sweetness:  "Springfield  Awake,  Springfield 
Aflame."  And  then  there  are  strains  of  that 
World  Government  song,  beginning:  "Every 
ship  of  every  land,  every  wheel  and  every 
wing." 

The  cheeks  of  the  girls  are  sun-browned, 
and  rosy  as  the  Amaranth- Apples  in  the  orch 
ards  of  Hunter  Kelly. 

The  whole  town  is  here;  every  faction, 
religion,  tribe  and  tongue.  Besides  all  the 
Michaels,  Boones  and  Darsies,  Bonansingas, 
Romanoffs,  Fagins,  Kopenskys,  Rocks,  Rues, 
Swartzes,  McGinnisses,  Ezekiels,  Greys,  there 
are  even  girls  of  the  negro  Timmons  and  Emis 
families.  There  are  Hymans,  Stanleys  and 
Radleys,  and  all  the  rest.  Each  steed  is  like  a 
pale  horse  of  death.  I  am  thinking  that  when 
human  beings  go  forward  like  this,  trained  to 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  299 

the  last  inch,  all  whipcord  and  tempered  steel, 
it  is  no  wonder  that,  left  far  behind,  to  make 
mischief,  there  are  human  embers.  This  must 
be  paid  for,  by  the  discarded  creatures  among 
us  who  cannot  stand  this  pace  and  who  are  not 
quite  vile  enough  in  ordinary  hours  to  be  hid 
in  jails  or  sanitariums,  but  who  when  their 
little  time  suddenly  arrives,  go  forth  maraud 
ing  according  to  their  nature  and  their  good 
luck. 

I  am  beneath  the  reviewing  platform  and, 
as  I  am  meditating,  the  mayor 's  little  sister 
stands  up  in  her  stirrups  and  cuts  me  across 
the  face  with  her  whip,  not  checking  her  pace 
an  instant.  Some  one  behind  and  above  me 
says:  " Evidently  you  did  not  see  the  flags/' 
It  is  the  Japanese,  all  courtesy  and  solicitude. 
But  he  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  see  in 
time  and  to  salute  the  meteors  just  ahead  of 
this  fiery  little  rider,  the  two  battle  flags  of 
the  Amazons,  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  and 
the  thousand-colored  flag  that  will  yet  redeem 
mankind,  made  of  all  the  flags  in  the  world, 
sewed  into  one  glorious  banner,  the  Flag  of 
Joseph's  Coat, 

But  I  have  my  excuse  for  not  seeing  the 
flags  of  my  world.  My  eyes  have  been  dazzled 
by  Avanel,  who  has  been  mourning  and  hid 
den  three  months  and  three  days;  she  is  rid- 


300  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

ing  in  from  a  boulevard  to  the  left,  hurrying 
with  her  escort  to  the  head  of  the  cavalcade. 

The  meaning  of  her  accoutrement  is  plain. 
She  is  saying,  by  what  she  wears :  ' '  No  Singa 
pore  intrigue  can  drive  the  child  of  Daniel 
Boone  from  her  destiny. ' '  Never  was  she  such 
a  commander  as  she  is  in  this  twilight,  with 
black  horse,  black  gauntlets,  black  dress, 
black  harness,  black  plume,  all  things  black 
and  the  only  flash  of  white,  her  mourning 
face.  Her  pride  is  laid  low  for  a  higher  pride. 
For  the  first  time  her  black  hair  is  combed 
back  over  her  shoulders,  after  the  manner  and 
regulation  of  the  Boones,  and  she  goes  for 
ward  to  resume  her  command,  and  the  girls 
cry  out  in  passionate  welcome,  and  there  is  a 
terrible  mourning  and  a  terrible  menace  in 
their  cry,  when  she  takes  her  left  hand  from 
the  gauntlet,  and  it  is  dyed  crimson,  after  the 
manner  and  regulation  of  the  Boones. 

October  30. — The  Amazons  of  the  city,  and 
the  Horseshoe  Brotherhood  have  taken  pos 
session  of  the  city,  and  until  the  day  of  their 
going,  they  will  police  the  city  and  none  shall 
hinder  them,  and  they  ride  down  the  boule 
vards  with  little  consideration  or  patience 
for  the  loitering  of  passers  by.  More  and  more 
the  Avanel  blades  hiss  in  the  air,  and  there  is 
angry  fear  in  the  eyes  of  the  women,  that  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  301 

mobs  may  again  own  these  streets,  while  the 
city's  warriors  are  away  in  Asia.  And  this 
evening  The  Bo  one  Ax,  of  which  Avanel  is 
now  the  nominal  editor,  comes  out  with  an 
editorial,  front  page,  with  her  signature: — "I 
have  railed  in  my  time  at  middle-class  respect 
ability.  Yet  The  Boone  Ax  trusts  it  today  as 
the  one  jewel  case  containing  most  of  the 
gems  of  brotherhood.  Whatever  its  policy  in 
the  past  The  Boone  Ax  now  puts  at  the  head 
of  its  regular  inside  editorial  page  a  picture 
of  Confucius,  and  under  it  this  description:— 
'The  champion  of  old-fashioned,  middle-class 
decency  and  respectability,  and  the  lawgiver 
for  this  paper. ' 

"The  picture  goes  there  as  our  only  venge 
ance  for  the  death  of  the  founder  of  this 
paper,  and  as  our  eternal  reminder  of  that 
act. 

"As  a  matter  of  getting  down  to  the  bed 
rock  of  civilization  we  turn  to  the  world's 
most  ancient  champion  of  propriety  and  civil 
ity  and  fight  lynch  law  and  all  popular  and 
ill-considered  whirlwinds,  until  our  paper  has 
won  its  battle,  or  is  wiped  from  the  face  of 
the  earth." 

November  1,  2018:— But  Confucius  is  not 
the  patron  saint  of  the  lady  Avanel. 

It  all  comes  as  a  clouded  vision  before  me 


302  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

as  though  I  were  half  in  the  vision,  and 
through  it  beginning  a  new  and  more  desper 
ate  destiny  of  my  own.  It  is  the  snowy  morn 
ing  of  All  Saints '  Day.  Representatives  of  the 
Michael  Clan,  young  and  old,  Horseshoe 
Brotherhood,  Amazons  and  many  others  are 
at  the  crossing  of  Fifth  Street  and  Capital 
Avenue,  by  the  ancestral  Blacksmith  Shop. 
The  horse  of  the  conquering  Avanel  Boone  is 
to  be  shod  by  that  good  sport,  Joseph  Bar- 
tholdi  Michael,  the  Second,  as  a  sign  of  fealty, 
and  in  final  preparation  for  the  going  forth 
against  Singapore.  Scattered  among  the 
Michaels  are  the  long-haired,  black-haired 
Boones,  with  the  locks  of  both  the  men  and 
women  streaming  back  over  their  shoulders, 
after  the  manner  and  regulation  of  the 
Boones,  and  their  left  hands  dyed  crimson,  as 
a  perpetual  reminder  to  themselves  and  all 
the  world  of  certain  strains  of  Red  Indian 
ancestry. 

While  the  snow  is  blowing  into  the  shop, 
white-haired  Joseph  Bartholdi  Michael,  the 
Second,  aided  by  his  son,  the  Third  have 
taken  the  old  shoes  from  the  dainty  feet 
of  the  white  pony,  and  just  as  the  old  war 
rior  is  lifting  a  new  shoe  from  the  fire,  the 
flames  leap  up,  there  is  a  music  incredibly 
sweet  and,  with  a  great  whirring  of  wings 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  303 

and  terrible  thunder,  the  Golden  Book  flies 
out  of  the  fire  and  circles  above  these  two 
clans  and  their  satelites  of  renown. 

And  the  swords  of  the  Amazons  are  out  in 
the  air  in  involuntary  salutation,  and  the  face 
of  Avanel  has  the  consecration  of  a  nun,  tak 
ing  her  final  vows.  I  wonder  if  all  her  girlish 
escort,  so  wonderstricken,  see,  as  I  see.  For 
to  me,  as  I  feel  my  feet  sinking  into  the  dust  of 
the  ancient  grave,  this  horse  and  rider  move 
heavenward  a  little,  it  seems  as  though 
Avanel 's  horse's  hoofs  no  longer  quite  touch 
the  ground;  she  is  a  sort  of  celestial  lady 
centaur.  She  and  her  horse  have  one  pair  of 
wings  that  bind  them  together,  and  the  wings 
are  rays  of  light  and  the  same  color  as  the 
wings  of  the  book  and  akin.  And  even  while 
I  look,  the  very  glory  of  this  vision  of  a  young 
girl,  receiving  her  commission  from  the  un 
seen  world,  burns  me  down  like  the  last 
embers  of  a  campfire  blown  upon  by  a  ter 
rible  wind  from  the  skies.  I  am  neither  man 
nor  weed  nor  flame  any  more  but  something 
less  than  these  and  doomed  by  the  years. 
There  is  a  flower  of  flame  above  her  forehead 
that  consumes  my  eyes;  there  are  flowers  of 
flame  above  the  foreheads  of  all  her  girl  com 
panions. 

Avanel,  with  eyes  fixed  and  strained,  fol- 


304  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

lows  the  flying  book  on  her  winged  horse.  The 
book  settles  into  her  arms  and,  though  the 
snow  and  autumn  leaves  swirl  down  and 
blind  me,  I  see  her  there  above  the  company, 
like  a  fairy  in  a  trance,  while  the  assembled 
clans  and  all  the  citizens  gather  close  to  hear 
every  word.  The  first  pages  of  the  volume 
give  a  new  constitution  for  the  World  Govern 
ment,  based  on  the  teachings  of  Abraham  Lin 
coln.  The  song  in  the  air  praises  Avanel  and 
urges  her  and  all  she  commands  to  valor  for 
the  Heavenly  Star  Spangled  Banner  and  the 
Heavenly  International  Flag. 

But  as  for  myself,  I  am  sinking  to  my  knees 
into  yesterday,  and  this  is  not  Fifth  and  Capi 
tal  Avenue,  for  me,  for  the  wind  says:  "ashes 
to  ashes  dust  to  dust."  Then  Avanel  leans 
down.  She  gives  her  crimson  hand  to  me  one 
moment.  She  gives  me  life  for  this  war.  This 
is  the  day  of  going  forth  against  Singapore. 


CHAPTER  XVHI 

HOW    SEVEN    TEARS    AFTER    THE     MYSTIC    TEAR     ST 
FRIEND   AND   AVANEL   READ   FROM  A   COPT   OF   THE 
GOLDEN    BOOK    AND    HOW    HE    TELLS    HIS    VISION 
THAT     CAME     THE     DAT     THE     BOOK     FIRST  •AP 
PEARED.     ON   OTHER   DATS   THE   LADT   AVANEL 
SOWS    THE    THISTLE     OF    DREAMS    AND    THE 
APPLE  AMARANTH   SEEDS  AND  THE  .ACORNS 
OF     EZEKIEL     AND     THE     SEEDS     OF     THE 
GOLDEN  RAIN  TREE  AND  THEREBT  COME 
NEW   VISIONS   AND    TEACHINGS   AND 
MAGIC    WORKS. 

Of  the  Singapore  adventure,  there  is  a  song 
to  be  sung,  some  day,  but  we  cannot,  by  tak 
ing  thought,  sing  of  battles.  The  song  of 
battle  comes  when  we  least  expect  it,  long 
after  or  long  before  the  event  that  is  so  mov 
ing  to  the  heart. 

But  Singapore  is  indeed  overthrown  and 
for  two  seasons  the  young  men  and  maidens 
have  been  back  from  the  Asiatic  war  front. 
To  some  of  them,  to  many,  The  Golden  Book 
came  before  they  left  Springfield.  To  others 
it  appeared  after  the  last  battle,  hovering 
above  the  trenches  at  midnight  and  there 
were  songs  in  the  air  calling  them  home.  Or 

305 


306  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

they  found  it  suddenly  in  their  hands  in  camp 
shelters,  and  long  litanies  and  proclamations 
of  the  New  Springfield  and  the  New  Earth 
flashed  upon  their  souls  and  burned  eternal 
record  there. 

It  is  a  gorgeous  first  of  March  afternoon 
and  the  wind  has  abated  for  a  few  hours,  and 
a  few  buds  are  out  in  Washington  Park  and 
we  are  hoping  that  frost  will  not  nip  them  in 
this  exceedingly  premature  spring.  The  lotus 
pond  is  still  empty  and  leaden.  It  flowers  only 
in  the  height  of  July  but  we  look  to  it  in 
hope  and  with  remembrance  of  other  lotus 
days. 

Avanel  and  I  and  St.  Friend  are  in  the 
Washington  Park  Pavilion.  The  precocious 
spring  is  in  the  blood  of  the  ancient  saint.  He 
is  the  youngest  of  us,  the  gayest.  Avanel  is 
speaking  of  that  morning  in  front  of  the 
blacksmith  shop  when  the  great  Book  flut 
tered  into  her  arms.  '  '  In  the  fire  flaming  from 
the  words  of  that  book,  I  found  power  to  go 
out  and  fight  for  the  International  Flag,  and 
make  that  the  vengeance  for  the  death  of  my 
father." 

Now  I  draw  from  my  coat  pocket  a  tiny 
duplicate  of  the  book,  such  as  is  now  in  the 
hands  of  practically  every  Springfield  citi 
zen,  printed  by  Josephine  Windom  and  Hor- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  307 

ace  Andrews.  As  we  three  loaf  in  the  pavil 
ion:  St.  Friend,  Avanel  and  myself,  and  look 
at  the  leaden  lotus  pond,  St.  Friend  reads 
aloud  the  familiar  opening  sentences  of  St. 
Scribe  of  the  Shrines,  who  wrote  the  book 
in  Heaven:— 

"I  have  been  long  in  the  jungles  of  the 
Celestial  Zion,  speculating  on  how  the  ruined 
mansions  here,  and  how  the  earth  itself,  might 
be  rebuilt.  Yet  the  true  Heaven  lies  In  a 
single  flower,  and  more  and  more  my  specula 
tions  turn  on  how  my  own  city,  Springfield 
may  be  rebuilt. ' ' 

Then  St.  Friend  the  Giver  of  Bread,  at  our 
urging,  reads  on  and  on.  The  volume  tells, 
for  instance,  how  Heaven  became  a  jungle 
within  the  lifetime  of  an  ordinary  man.  The 
book  contains  a  sermon,  which  our  saint  reads 
to  us,  on:  "Your  great  great  grandson's 
neighbor's."  It  is  a  volume  no  more  consecu 
tive  than  the  Koran.  Each  dream  is  written 
down  once  for  all  as  it  came  to  the  tranced 
soul  of  St.  Scribe,  as  he  bent  over  the  page, 
with  his  terrible  pen  in  his  hand. 

With  endless  reiteration  the  book  de 
nounces  the  diabolical  works  of  the  Singa- 
porian  sect  and  their  conspiring  against 
world  peace.  It  pronounces  a  blessing  on  the 
predestined  victorious  armies  of  the  World 


308'  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Government  and  prophecies  the  triumph  of 
their  splendid  flag. 

Moreover,  St.  Friend  reads,  not  only  many 
of  these  things,  but  the  sermon  on  "The 
Rhythm  of  the  Heart, "  and  the  homily  upon 
"The  Good  and  Evil  of  Beauty. "  He  reads 
the  exhortation  for  "The  Young  Musician 
who  has  not  learned  to  Pray,"  and  the  one 
for  "The  Young  Politician  who  has  not 
learned  to  Pray,"  and  like  discourses  for 
many  other  occupations. 

And  then  Avanel  and  I  take  turns  reading 
on  and  on  to  him  through  the  specific  direc 
tions  for  the  founding  of  the  schools  of  the 
Young  Prophets,  and  the  discourse  on  the 
horror  of  the  angels  at  all  the  World  Wars, 
and  the  tale  of  how  the  angels  went  out  to  re 
deem  the  stars  from  war  by  surrendering 
themselves  to  crucifixion  on  millions  of 
crosses  on  millions  of  suns  and  stars  and 
planets,  and  thus  within  the  lifetime  of  the 
generation  now  on  earth,  Heaven  was  left  a 
jungle.  This  is  followed  by  an  exhortation 
to  make  Springfield  a  city  "worthy  of  the 
blood  of  the  crucified  poured  down  upon  it." 

But  its  powers  are  not  directly  in  its  inter 
minable  discourses.  Always  it  seems  to  be  a 
person,  not  a  book,  and  so,  on  this  afternoon. 


THE  GOLDEN  LOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  309 

April  10,  2025 : — Again  it  is  a  goodly  after 
noon,  and  we  are  still  hopeful  for  these  pre 
cocious  buds.  As  we  sit  in  the  sun  in  the 
Washington  Park  Pavilion,  Saint  Friend,  the 
Giver  of  Bread,  tells  us  of  the  visions  that 
came  seven  years  ago. 

"I  remember  the  Halloween  of  2018,  and 
the  next  few  days,  as  no  other  period  in  my 
life.  I  was  in  the  Cathedral  all  the  night, 
praying  before  the  Image  of  St.  Scribe  of  the 
Shrines.  And  toward  morning  it  took  on  the 
appearance  of  breathing  human  flesh,  but  was 
Hunter  Kelly  of  long  ago,  in  the  hunter's  cap 
and  deerskin  dress,  such  as  he  wore  when  he 
came  to  Illinois  two  centuries  ago. 

And  so  Hunter  Kelly,  St.  Scribe  of  the 
Shrines,  made  me  forget  all  else,  telling  me 
stories  of  the  tomorrow  of  Illinois  and  giving 
clear  prophecies  of  the  tomorrow  of  the  Cathe 
dral,  in  the  city  and  the  nation  and  the  world. 
He  spoke  of  saints  of  the  pattern  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  and  Johnny  Appleseed,  foreordained 
to  live  and  breathe  beneath  our  Cathedral 
roof,  before  the  ever  living  presence  on  the 
altar.  Then  he  gave  me  the  joy  of  confession, 
and  seemed  to  be  St.  Scribe,  the  master  of  my 
youth.  Then  all  was  darkness  and  sleep. 

"In  the  early  morning  I  woke  from  my 


310  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

trance  an&  found  myself  lying  on  the  floor  of 
the  Cathedral.  The  Image  of  Hunter  Kelly- 
St.  Scribe,  was  gone  from  the  niche. 

"In  the  late  morning,  when  I'found  myself 
reading  his  Golden  Book  to  the  people  it 
seemed  as  though  I  had  known  its  every  word 
for  infinite  years. 

"I  read  on  and  on.  When  I  closed  the  book 
and  dismissed  the  people,  they  went  out  sing 
ing  through  the  streets  '  Springfield  Awake, 
Springfield  Aflame/ 

"As  I  stood  alone  in  the  church,  a  vision  cf 
the  war  came  to  me. 

"The  angel  of  the  Cathedral  came  down 
from  the  carved  niche  near  the  roof.  By  many 
signs  she  was,  indeed,  the  angel  of  Illinois. 
The  stone  was  transformed  into  a  presence, 
delicate  as  the  milkweed  silk,  ruddy  as  the 
sunrise.  Pier  hair  was  the  hue  of  red  corn. 
Her  wind  blown  mantle  was  the  color  of  ripe 
wheat.  Her  wings  were  like  those  of  the  white 
eagle.  Her  eyes  were  dark  as  the  deep-digged 
mine.  Her  smile  was  the  beginning  of  visions. 

"Circling  her  temple  was  an  opalescent 
crown,  twenty  white  stars,  with  the  twenty 
first  over  the  forehead,  with  the  red  blood  of 
Hunter  Kelly  in  the  heart 's  core  of  it. 

"Above  her  head  appeared  a  great  band, 
swinging  a  censer  through  the  roof  and 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  311 

walls  of  the  building.  The  Angel  of  the  Cathe 
dral  said  to  me,  as  she  stood  beside  me: — 
'This  is  the  Censer  of  Change.  A  great 
change  is  coming  to  Illinois  and  the  Capital 
of  Illinois. ' 

"The  smoke  poured  out  and  filled  the 
streets.  It  penetrated  every  grove  of  Spring 
field.  It  beat  in  the  blood  of  every  living  crea 
ture. 

"The  Angel  of  Illinois  said:— 'This  is  the 
Incense  of  Civic  Genius.  The  city  shall  be 
barren  no  longer  but  bring  forth. ' 

"Then  through  the  roof,  as  though  there 
were  a  censer  higher  than  the  first,  clouds  of 
many  colors  descended.  These  became  gor 
geous  cloud-winged  children  in  wonderful, 
gleaming  silks,  flying  through  the  walls.  And 
in  the  same  stream  Gothic  grotesques  walked 
and  crawled  down  the  aisles  and  out  into  the 
streets,  all  singing:  'Springfield  Awake, 
Springfield  Aflame. ' 

"The  angel  of  the  Cathedral  said:  'These 
are  the  children  of  the  New  Time  and  their 
playmates,  the  beasts  of  Innocent  Fancy. ' 

"Then  the  dusty  stone  cherubim  and  sera 
phim  that  stood  by  the  pillars  of  the  church, 
with  their  dusty  cold  trumpets,  took  on  life. 
They  blew  a  long  awakening  cry.  Every  note 
was  a  delicate  and  heart-shaking  surprise. 


312  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

Then  from  above. the  high  altar,  from  a  fire 
which  burned  round  the  Host  on  the  altar, 
there  came  soldiers  of  Heaven,  in  very  ancient 
armor,  but  with  newly  pierced  hands. 

"The  Angel  of  the  Cathedral,  the  Angel 
of  Illinois,  said:  ' These  are  they  who  shall 
live  invisibly  by  every  hearth  and  table 
throughout  the  Capital.' 

"There  burst  from  the  pavement  smoke 
and  dust  and  stones,  and  from  there  arose 
the  great  glass  image  of  the  cocaine  Buddha. 
Immobile  as  any  other  stone,  he  was  yet 
carried  by  invisible  hands.  He  and  his 
company  rushed  with  a  great  whistling 
like  the  hissing  of  serpents.  They  went  out 
through  the  walls  into  the  streets  as  though 
the  walls  were  nothing.  They  had  many  kinds 
of  monsters  with  them,  and  strangely  singing 
birds  of  paradise,  and  lions  with  poison  quills. 

"The  Angel  of  Illinois  said  to  me:  'This 
glass  image  will  turn  to  dust.  Yet  for  every 
angel  at  a  hearth  of  the  city  there  will  be  a 
demon,  a  quilled  lion,  and  a  singing  bird  of 
paradise.  These  will  eat  invisibly  at  your 
tables  and  hearths,  feeding  upon  the  words 
and  thoughts  of  the  household.  They  will 
breathe  hell's  breath  into  the  faces  of  the 
children.  But  the  Angel  Soldiers  of  Heaven 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  313 

who  have  marched  from  out  the  High  Altar 
will  be  with  the  people  also. 

''These  powers  will  be  in  perpetual  truce 
and  perpetual  war  in  every  house  in  the  Cap 
ital.  But  open  war  between  nations  and  races 
of  men  will  soon  be  ended  forever. 

;<  These  liofes  have  crept  and  ramped 
through  the  dark  valleys  of  Heaven  and  they 
have  the  seeds  of  sweet  flowers  clinging  to 
their  feet  and  these  singing  birds  of  paradise 
have  flown  through  the  dark  trees  of  heaven, 
and  have  the  seeds  of  rare  trees  clinging  to 
their  pinions. 

"These  censers  that  have  swung  over  the 
raw  capital,  will  swing  over  many  another 
this  day,  and  the  angel  soldiers  will  appear  in 
many  another  city  around  the  world,  and  by 
many  a  far  off  hearthstone  and  family  and 
tribaMable,  with  their  demon  foes  beside 
them,  in  perpetual  truce,  and  perpetual  war." 
May  15:— The  premature,  precocious  buds 
and  green  twigs  of  the  year  are  surviving  this 
perilous  spring.   There  are  showers  and  car 
pets  of  every  kind  of  blossom.  It  seems  more 
like  June  fifteenth  than  May  fifteenth.  Beau 
tiful  people,  mothers  and  children,  boys  and 
girls,  in  the  lightest  and  whitest  of  summer 
masquerading    costumes    are    walking    and 
dancing  over  the  whitest,  cleanest  streets  our 


814  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

city  has  ever  known.  But  the  Lady  Avanel 
and  I  confess  to  one  another,  as  of  old,  that 
these  days  are  not  the  millennium,  however 
gay  they  seem  to  be. 

And  yet  my  lady,  this  evening,  becomes  a 
thing  not  quite  of  this  earth,  a  spirit,  yet  a 
sower  in  earthly  fields. 

I  whisper:  "Lady  Avanel,  Miss  Fantas 
tic,  while  the  star  chimes  are  ringing  another 
new  tune,  what  are  you  sowing  from  your 
close-woven  willow  basket  so  full  of  seed? 
The  lady  speaks  with  the  voice  of  the  wind:— 
"I  am  sowing  the  torturing  thistle  of  dreams. 
Some  men  do  not  see  this  city  as  it  is,  because 
they  have  walked  in  easy  and  stupid  ways. 
They  have  never  walked,  as  we  do  this  even 
ing,  while  the  Thistle  of  Dreams  comes  up.  We 
see  it  springing  from  the  ground  in  an  instant. 
It  will  go  in  an  hour.  But  if  we  touch  it  we 
are  blessed  and  tormented  forever  by  newer 
and  newer  dreams.  And  at  last  our  eyes  will 
see  this  city  as  it  is,  a  weed  patch  indeed,  but 
of  fancies.  And  more  than  a  weed  patch  of 
fancies, — a  forest,  but  of  gigantic  dreams. 

"The  men  who  can  see  the  dreams  build 
the  patterns  into  visible  forms,  and  then  we 
have  the  Sunset  Towers,  and  the  Truth 
Tower,  and  the  Street  of  Past  History,  and 
the  rest. 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD     315 

"Then  I  walk  past  these  buildings  and  sow 
new  thistle-down  and  thistles,  and  they 
penetrate  the  very  concrete  of  the  sidewalk, 
splitting  it  for  their  roots.  Then  younger  men 
and  women  are  stung  with  new  visions,  that 
make  the  Sunset  Towers  seem  commonplace, 
and  all  but  the  Springfield  Flag,  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner,  and  the  World  Flag,  dim 
things." 

The  Thistle  of  Dreams  is  growing  around 
Avanel  as  she  speaks.  It  looks  like  a  gigantic 
fleur  de  lis,  but  from  it  comes  endless  silk  as 
though  from  the  pods  of  the  milkweed.  She 
says  of  that  silk:  "It  is  full  of  thorns  sharper 
than  Cupid's  arrows,  more  transforming  than 
any  drug  from  Asia.  They  work  their  way  to 
many  a  heart  and  brain.  When  the  young  citi 
zens  are  tormented  by  these  they  will  build 
things  greater  than  Springfield  has  yet  looked 
upon,  people's  palaces,  as  yet  without  a 
name." 

"And  who  are  you,  Lady  Avanel,  and  by 
what  authority  do  you  speak  ? ' ' 

"I  am  only  the  breath  of  the  prairie,  I  am 
only  the  West-going  Heart,  and  by  that 
authority  I  speak  to  you,  and  by  that  author 
ity  I  sow  the  thistle." 

"Lady  Avanel,  Miss  Fantastic,  while  the 
star  chimes  are  ringing  another  new  tune, 


316  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

what  are  you  sowing  from  your  close  woven 
willow  basket,  so  full  of  seed?" 

"I  am  sowing  the  appleseeds  of  Johnny 
Appleseed  and  Hunter  Kelly  and  the  Acorns 
of  Rabbi  Terdnce  Ezekiel  and  the  seeds  of 
the  Golden  Eain  Tree  of  New  Harmony.  But 
they  are  now  breathed  on  by  the  winds  of 
chaos  and  their  glory  comes  suddenly. ' ' 

At  once  in  her  path  appear  saplings,  then 
they  become  full  grown  trees.  And  there  are 
many  earthquakes,  as  the  boughs  begin,  this 
very  midnight,  to  bear  flowers  and  fruit. 
Then  come  up  from  the  roots  explosive 
scraps  of  earth  and  volcano  coals.  Treasure 
sacks  of  strange  jewels,  neither  scorched  nor 
smoked,  are  tossed  to  the  surface  of  the 
ground.  These  sacks  are  full  of  coins  of 
celestial  gold,  stamped  with  a  picture  of 
Hunter  Kelly,  as  though  he  were  a  Presi 
dent  or  an  Emperor  of  some  strange  dominion. 

From  each  heap  of  celestial  gold  come  two 
or  three  bright  spirits  with  wreaths  of  tiny 
leaves  or  flowers  round  their  baby  foreheads, 
weeping  angels,  an  hour  old,  little  boys,  most 
sturdy  and  kicking. 

And  now  angels  will  come  to  bear  them  to 
the  houses  of  the  laughing  people.  Citizens 
who  are  not  at  home  will  find  them  later 
on  the  table,  and  in  the  wood  box  and  in  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  317 

waste-basket,    strange     little    visitors    and 
sons. 

"Lady  Avanel,   Miss  Fantastic,  what  of 
these  children  from  the  sod?" 

The  lady  answers :  ' '  These  are  the  laughter 
of  earth  and  heaven. 

'These  children  will  grow  in  stature  and 
beauty  for  twenty  years.  And  then  these  little 
sons  of  God  will  see  the  daughters  of  men, 
that  they  are  fair,  as  it  was  in  the  book  of 
Genesis,  at  the  very  beginning  of  time.   The 
next  generation  of  men  in  Springfield,  born  of 
the  loves  of  these  angels  and  daughters  of  the 
city,  will  be  giants  like  Nimrod.  These  giants 
will  drive  out  the  former  institutions  with 
their   own   swords,    forged   for   this   special 
war.    That  generation  will  build  many  man 
sions  of  divine  beauty,  sheltering  men  and 
near-angels  alike.  And  the  houses  of  magical 
or  heavenly  aspect  will  mix  with  the  plain, 
grimy  or  earthen  houses:— for  the  genera 
tions  of  Springfield  will  be  forever  a  mixed 
breed." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HOW  AT  THE  END  OF  ALL  THESE  WORKS  AND  DAYS, 

AVANEL    AND     I     RISE     IN    A    BOAT     THROUGH     THE 

AIR,     FOLLOWING     THE     GREAT     NEW     AMARANTH 

VINE  FROM  CAMP  LINCOLN  TO  THE  PARAPETS  OF 

HEAVEN.     HOW    WE    TRACE     ITS    BANYAN-LIKE 

BRANCHES       THROUGH       THE       JUNGLES       OF 

HEAVEN,  AND  HOW  WE  DEFY  THE  HANDSOME 

MEDICINE   MAN,    DEVIL'S   GOLD,   AND  HOW, 

LATER,    WE    FIND    THE    EMPTY    SACK    OF 

JOHNNY    APPLESEED.     HOW    I    RETURN 

TO  FIFTH  AND  MONROE  AND  AVANEL 

IS  ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AWAY. 

It  is  many  years  after  the  triumphant  re 
turn  of  the  Amazons  and  the  Horseshoe 
Brotherhood  from  the  battles  in  Asia.  Avanel 
and  I  are  walking  again  along  the  Great 
Northwest  Koad,  and  we  reach  the  Old  Camp 
Lincoln  grounds  where  the  Horseshoe  Broth 
erhood  and  the  Amazons  so  often  drill.  But 
this  evening  it  is  deserted,  with  neither  tent 
nor  horse  nor  rider  to  be  seen.  It  is  autumn 
and  leaves  whirl  between  me  and  the  Lady 
Avanel  and  too  often  hide  her  from  me.  Many 
leaders  of  various  sects  of  the  city  are  mov- 

318 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  319 

ing  about  or  assembled.  It  has  always  been 
the  holy  region  of  the  city,  near  the  Gardens 
of  the  Flower  Eeligions  and  the  Grave  of  Lin 
coln  and  of  Hunter  Kelly. 

Avanel  and  I  are  in  the  spirit  on  this  eve 
ning.  We  walk,  as  though  upon  carpets  of 
glory,  and  we  hear  from  the  black  lips  of  the 
humble  earth  the  cry:  "Springfield  Awake, 
Springfield  Aflame." 

The  old  giant  toy  globe,  that  used  to  be  in 
the  center  of  this  field,  is  long  gone.  And 
where  it  stood,  there  has  come  up,  since  The 
Golden  Book  appeared,  a  great  Apple-Amar 
anth  Vine,  coming  as  it  were,  like  Jack's  bean 
stalk,  suddenly. 

It  is  autumn  and  the  whole  air  is  fragrant 
with  the  honey  of  the  fruit  of  this  Apple- 
Amaranth,  and  bees  are  busy  with  the  rich 
fruit. 

Every  highest,  fartherest  bud  that  opens 
day  after  to-morrow,  or  in  a  thousand  years, 
will  flash  with  a  spark  and  a  flame,  that  has 
climbed  up  hundreds  and  thousands  of  miles 
from  the  roots  that  touch  all  the  gardens  of 
our  city,  up  the  old  streets  of  Heaven,  where 
this  vine  blooms  today. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  while  the  star 
chimes  of  Springfield  are  ringing  new  tunes, 
from  the  dimmest  stars  of  the  blue,  from  east, 


320  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

west,  north  and  south,  magic  boats  sweep 
down  to  the  Amazonian  field. 

It  is  happiness  to  be  even  the  oldest  of  the 
prophets,  who  wait  exhausted,  after  ages  of 
service,  praying  and  dreaming,  stretched  out 
on  the  decks  of  their  swift  boats,  consumed 
with  beautiful  sorrow  and  hope.  The  honey 
of  each  different  Amaranth,  growing  through 
the  stars,  has  burnt  all  the  strength  of  their 
bodies  away,  yet  it  gives  to  them  stronger 
courage,  hour  by  hour.  When  it  touches  their 
lips,  all  else  is  vanity.  It  is  the  live  coal  from 
the  altar  and  is  their  new  Heaven. 

The  boats  are  now  above  the  field,  and  some 
of  them  have  rested  near  the  earth,  and  some 
of  the  prophets  are  standing  round  the  tree. 
Among  them  is  that  wild  ancient  man  Isaiah. 
He  gathers  the  whole  company  of  Springfield 
people  who  are  there  on  the  edges  of  the 
field.  Then  there  join,  from  the  invisible 
world,  many  of  the  long  dead  Saints  of 
Springfield  and  many  saints  from  other  capi 
tals  of  this  land. 

Isaiah  speaks  to  us  in  words,  such  as  he 
spoke  to  the  Jews,  when  the  earthly  Jeru 
salem  had  fallen,  but  they  are  words  that 
shall  ever  be  new  till  the  last  millennium  is 
achieved.  He  stretches  forth  his  hand  and 
blesses  our  kneeling  company  and,  with  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  321 

honey  of  this  new  Amaranth  Flower  still 
burning  on  his  lips,  like  visible  fire,  he  cries 
in  a  loud  voice  his  old  prophecies  of  the  com 
ing  of  the  restored  and  redeemed  Zion. 

Avanel  and  I  are  now  in  our  ship  above 
the  town,  and  looking  down  on  the  sea  of  dim 
fleets.  Avanel  whispers:  " There  are  proph 
ets  in  those  boats  from  all  the  hermit  caves 
and  all  the  shrines  in  the  moon  and  all  the 
planets  and  all  the  suns.  There  are  prophets 
that  once  walked  the  innermost  streets  of  the 
far  jungles  of  Heaven. 

"Yet  the  song  that  somes  up  from  that  sea 
and  shakes  our  sails  is:  ' Springfield  Awake, 
Springfield  Aflame/  because  the  song  and 
heart  and  blood  of  any  prophet  are  for  the 
city  that  will  receive  them. ' ' 

The  boats  are  ranged  in  three  great  circles 
beneath  us  round  the  new  Amaranth  Vine. 
These  ride  on  invisible  sea-levels.  They  are 
not  air  ships  with  modern  wings  and  propel 
lers,  but  boats  of  the  ancient  type,  such  as 
were  used  by  Hiram,  King  of  Tyre  when  he 
brought  the  wood  to  build  the  temple  of  Solo 
mon,  such  as  St.  Peter  used  on  Lake  Galilee, 
such  as  bore  St.  Paul  to  the  ends  of  the  world. 

While  the  star  chimes  of  the  city  ring  new 
tunes,  the  weird  sailors  below  us  pour  down 
a  crimson  wine  from  the  sides  of  the  boats, 


822    THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

that  mixes  with  the  autumn  leaves  of  the 
Amaranth  Vine  that  swirl  now  between  us 
and  the  whole  towered  city  below.  The  wine 
and  the  leaves  turn  to  crimson  mist  and  crim 
son  storm,  filling  the  city  canyons  with  rolling 
rivers  of  storm  to  the  top  of  the  Sunset 
Towers. 

The  boats  rise,  sailing  as  though  travelling 
of  their  own  knowledge.  Even  those  that  are 
empty  and  have  no  prophet  sailors  in  them 
are  up  and  away.  Some  of  them  seem  like  ex 
halations  from  the  perfume  and  gleam  of  the 
gigantic  vine  or  from  the  light  and  mist  of  the 
city  below.  And  so  out  to  the  stars  scatter 
all  these  purposeful  ships,  some  empty,  some 
with  prophet  crews,  and  every  boat  has  blaz 
ing  at  its  masthead  the  red  and  white  star  of 
Springfield  and  Illinois. 

And  the  song  goes  up  with  them  to  the 
stars:  "  Springfield  Awake,  Springfield 
Aflame."  Avanel  says,  "That  song  comes  be 
cause  the  song  and  heart  and  blood  of  the 
proudest  prophets  from  the  proudest  suns, 
are  for  the  city  that  will  receive  them." 

We  let  our  ship  blow  and  drift  as  it  will. 
But  it  sweeps  up  and  up,  with  the  swiftness 
of  light.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  a  flower  to 
open,  we  are  carried  to  the  parapets  of  ancient 
Heaven.  We  find  our  great-leaved,  heavy- 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  323 

fruited  Amaranth  Vine,  climbing  up  over  the 
closed  gates  and  high  wall-towers  of  Heaven 
and  winding  a  long  way  into  the  old  forest 
that  has  overgrown  the  streets.  We  find  the 
new  all  conquering  Springfield  vine,  spread 
ing  branches  through  the  forest  like  a  banyan 
tree. 

As  this  Amaranth  from  our  little  earthly 
village  grows  thicker,  we  see  by  its  light  a  bit 
pf  what  the  ancient  Heaven  has  been.  And  it 
Is  still  a  solid  place  of  soil  and  rock  and  metal. 
"Where  the  Springfield  Amaranth  blooms 
thickest,  shedding  luminous  glory  from  the 
petals  in  the  starlight,  this  Heaven  is  shown 
to  be  an  autumn  forest,  yet  with  the  cedars 
of  Lebanon,  and  sandalwood  thickets,  and  the 
million  tropic  trees  whose  seeds  have  blown 
here  from  strange  zones  of  the  planets,  and 
whose  patterns  are  not  the  patterns  of  those 
of  our  world.  Among  these,  vineclad  pillars 
and  walls  are  still  standing,  roofed  palaces,  so 
gigantic  that,  when  our  boat  glides  down  the 
great  streets  between  them,  they  overhang 
our  masts. 

And  from  branches  above  us  these  strange 
manners  of  fruits  tumble  upon  our  decks  for 
our  feasting  and  delight.  And  there  are  be 
neath  our  ship,  as  it  sails  on  as  it  will,  little 


324  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

fields  long  cleared  in  the  forest,  where  grows 
weedy  ungathered  grain. 

Through  hours  and  hours  of  the  night  our 
boat  goes  on,  whether  we  will  or  no,  through 
starlight  and  through  storm-clouds  and 
through  flower-light.  And  the  red  star  at  the 
masthead  and  the  sight  of  the  proud  face  of 
Avanel  keeps  laughter  in  my  bosom,  and  the 
heavenly  breeze  that  blows  on  the  flowers 
still  sings  to  our  hearts : '  *  Springfield  Awake, 
Springfield  Aflame. " 

Out  of  the  storm  now,  three  great  rocks 
appear,  giving  forth  white  light  there  on  the 
far  horizon,  and  this  light  burns  on  and  on. 
At  last  our  ship  approaches.  We  see  the  great 
rocks  are  three  empty  thrones. 

These  are  the  thrones  of  the  Trinity,  empty 
for  these  many  years,  just  as  the  Ark  of  the 
Covenant  and  the  Holy  of  Holies  were  bereft 
of  the  Presence,  when  Israel  sinned. 

And  now  we  are  near,  and  see  that  the 
light  that  hangs  round  these  mountain 
thrones  is  because  of  the  vines  of  gigantic 
Amaranths,  of  strange  design  and  of  many 
colors,  that  bloom  upon  them.  These  vines 
have  journeyed  up  through  the  ether  and 
great  spaces  from  many  cities  and  many  stars. 

Our  boat  sweeps  to  the  side  of  the  thrones, 
and  we  look  down  on  what  was  once  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  325 

crystal  sea,  a  wild  green  water  now,  with 
great  fleets  of  idle  boats,  moored  by  its 
marshy  banks,  the  boats  of  dead  prophets 
and  angels  who  lie  turned  to  stone  on  their 
strange  and  beautiful  decks.  "These  are  the 
souls  who  sinned  by  refusing  to  enlist  in  the 
crusade  against  world  wars,"  or,  at  least,  so 
Avanel  tells  me  from  her  heart. 

And  this  is  all  her  dream,  none  of  it  mine, 
and  without  her  all  this  is  nothing. 

There  are  boats  of  the  older  days,  galleons 
of  rotted  magnificence,  wrecked  and  high  and 
dry  upon  the  sand  bars,  and  the  skeletons 
and  driftwood  of  boats  are  scattered  in  the 
marshes  by  long  forgotten  storms  and  cy 
clones. 

We  disembark  and  tread  our  perilous 
way  among  these  strange  appearances. 
Sometimes  they  are  as  seemingly  material 
as  earth.  Sometimes  we  are  but  walking  on 
the  dust  of  nebulae. 

Then  we  walk  into  the  vine-clad  forest 
that  covers  the  pass  between  the  nearest 
throne  mountains,  where  broken  steps  are 
still  to  be  found  in  the  moss,  and  whisper 
to  us  to  follow.  There  are  many  butterflies 
and  bees  that  have  taken  too  much  of  the 
blood  of  the  fruit  of  the  Amaranth  Flower 
and  are  fallen  down  and  some  of  them  dead. 


326  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

The  stair  leads  us  up  and  through  a  dark 
pass  and  down  into  a  deeper  twilight.  And 
the  stair,  slowly  descending,  whispers  to  us: 
"Follow."  And  thus  we  go,  into  the  most 
abysmal  and  curious  of  valleys,  whence,  per 
haps,  ages  ago,  many  spirits  fled  affrighted 
because  of  the  loneliness. 

We  walk  amid  rich  ruins,  miles  and  miles 
of  vaulted  halls,  deep  sheltered  recesses, 
heaped  with  the  purple  dust  of  dead  tapes 
tries,  mouldering  porticos  shaken  by  the 
wind.  Avanel,  fearing  not  follows  the  steps 
that  still  call:  "Follow,  follow."  She  is  eat 
ing  of  the  Amaranth  that  still  blooms  and 
bears  fruit,  eating  the  fruit  from  many  stars, 
breathing  strange  perfume,  humming  her  old 
songs  and  new  songs,  with  heart  aflame,  a 
dauntless  prophetess,  prodigal  and  guide. 

But  now  even  her  spirit  is  weary  and  her 
soul  has  earth  thoughts  again,  as  we  wander 
through  the  echoing  throne  rooms.  She  tries 
in  vain  to  laugh  in  the  desolate  halls.  In  a 
fever  and  a  fret  and  in  unutterable,  earthly 
weariness,  we  shuffle  amid  heaps  of  old  shields 
bf  blackened  silver,  amid  helmets  of  brass 
and  iron,  amid  ivory  chariots  and  rotted 
harps  and  broken  crowns  and  swords  of 
rusted  gold.  And  then  we  see  a  campfire 
we  know  and  smell  the  familiar  fragrance  of 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  327 

pine  wood  and,  in  the  crossing  of  two  tre 
mendous  grass  grown  streets,  we  find  him  we 
found,  first  in  a  dream  in  springtime,  and 
then  at  midsummer  midnight  of  a  far  off 
June  at  Fifth  and  Monroe.  The  Handsome 
Medicine  Man,  Devil's  Gold,  is  saying  to  us, 
as  though  resuming  a  conversation  in  which 
he  had  quite  the  best  of  us  a  moment  ago: 

"  After  all,  people  are  ranked  in  Spring 
field  according  to  their  money.  People  with  six 
thousand  dollars  apiece  a  year  are  considered 
decent  and  no  questions  are  asked.  People 
with  a  million  in  buried  gold  or  alcohol  are  on 
a  level  of  righteousness  with  the  world  saints, 
who  are,  of  course,  admitted  to  their  class  by 
generous  dispensation.  Heaven  may  be  a 
jungle  but  nothing  will  ever  alter  this  great 
law,"  and  the  handsome  jester,  Devil's  Gold, 
is  shaking  his  bead-covered  rattle,  making 
medicine  and  calling  us  by  name.  We  are 
so  tired  from  our  long  walk  that  we  cannot 
but  admire  his  gilded  face  and  his  yellow 
magic  blanket.  And,  holding  each  other's 
hands  like  lovers,  we  stoop  and  admire  our 
selves  in  the  golden  pool  that  flickers  in  the 
great  campfire  he  has  impudently  built  at  the 
crossing  of  two  streets  in  Heaven. 

But  we  do  not  step  into  the  pool  as  before- 
time.  Our  boat  is  beside  us,  it  has  overtaken 


328  THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD 

us  like  some  faithful  tame  giant  swan,  and 
Avanel  whispers :  *  *  Take  us  where  The  Golden 
Book  was  written. ' '  And  thus  we  are  up  and 
away.  The  boat  carries  us  deeper,  down  the 
valley.  We  find  the  cell  of  Hunter  Kelly, — 
St.  Scribe  of  the  Shrines.  Only  his  handiwork 
remains  to  testify  of  him.  Upon  the  walls  of 
his  cell  he  has  painted  many  an  illumination 
he  afterward  painted  on  The  Golden  Book 
margins  and,  in  a  loose  pile  of  old  torn  and 
unbound  pages,  the  first  draft  of  many  a  fa 
miliar  text  is  to  be  found.  His  dried  paint 
jars  are  there  and  his  ink  and  on  the  wall 
hangs  the  empty  leather  sack  of  Johnny 
Appleseed,  from  which  came  the  first  sowing 
of  all  the  Amaranths  of  our  little  city,  and  the 
Amaranth  that  led  us  here. 

And  Avanel  whispers: — "I  ask  my  heart: 
— Where  is  Hunter  Kelly,  and  my  heart 
speaks  to  me  as  though  commanded:  'The 
Hunter  is  again  pioneering  for  our  little  city 
in  the  little  earth.  He  is  reborn  as  the 
humblest  acolyte  of  the  Cathedral,  a  child 
that  sings  tonight  with  the  star  chimes,  a 
red-cheeked  boy,  who  shoes  horses  at  the  old 
forge  of  the  Iron  Gentleman.  Let  us  also 
return '." 

It  is  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  at  Fifth 
and  Monroe.  It  is  Saturday  night,  and  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BOOK  OF  SPRINGFIELD  329 

crowd  is  pouring  toward  The  Majestic,  and 
Chattei-ton's,  and  The  Vaudette,  and  The 
Princess  and  The  Gaiety. 

It  is  a  lovely,  starry  evening,  in  the  spring. 
The  newsboys  are  bawling  away,  and  I  buy 
an  Illinois  State  Register.  It  is  dated  March 
1,  1920. 

Avanel  of  Springfield  is  one  hundred  years 
away. 

The  Register  has  much  news  of  a  passing 
nature.  I  am  the  most  interested  in  the 
weather  report,  that  tomorrow  will  be  fair. 

Written  in  Washington  Park  Pavilion, 
Springfield,  Illinois. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MAR    8  1968^8 


-10  AM 


• 


LD  2lA-60m-2,'67 
(H241slO)476B 


4-21103 


»•*«. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


wt. 


